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ASPHODEL 


“ Quinci  si  va  chi  vuole  andar  per  pace.” 

Dante. 


BOSTON. 

TICKNOR  AND  FIELDS. 
1866. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 
TICKNOR  AND  FIELDS, 

the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


University  Press  : Welch,  Bigelow,  & Co. 
Cambridge. 


1 

CONTENTS. 

PAGff 

(-0 

I. 

Introduction 

5 

II. 

Morning  ....... 

II 

U 

III. 

Friendship  . ..... 

. i8 

IV. 

An  Excursion 

34 

V. 

Communication 

• 56 

i 

VI. 

Companionship 

64 

' VII. 

Affinities 

• 71 

VIII. 

Solitude 

88 

IX. 

Presence  ....... 

. 116 

X. 

Awakening 

153 

XI. 

Courage  

164 

XII. 

The  Voyage 

181 

XIII. 

A Festival  . . . . . 

187 

XIV. 

A Wedding-Night 

201 

XV. 

Sunset 

211 

XVI. 

Evening 

218 

989334 


% 


^ ^.o£. 


ASPHODEL. 


■ ♦ ■■  ■• 

I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

TT  is  a fortunate  lot  to  be  born  in  New  Eng- 
land ; to  find  one’s  self  stepping  from  the 
cradle  out  into  the  fore  world  of  thought, 
stirred  by  breezes  fresh  with  the  freedom  of 
humanity ; to  know  that  a hope  rises  with 
the  morning  for  every  one  of  her  children, 
to  set  only  in  the  night  of  those  earth-sorrows, 
which  the  rich  and  poor,  the  wise  and  foolish, 
of  all  lands,  may  experience  alike,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  divine  economy  of  God.  And 
for  these.  His  chosen  ones,  the  light  of  faith 
forever  shines,  breaking  in  glory  upon  the 
mountains  of  the  future.  The^  child  of  New 
England  looks  toward  the  East,  saying.  Now 


ASPHODEL. 


6 

is  the  high  noon  of  the  world ; we  will  bid 
farewell  to  the  mists  of  earlier  hours,  and  lands 
overladen  by  the  history  of  ages,  gathering 
from  these  what  we  need,  but  leaving  the  rest 
to  decay  upon  the  parent  soil.  Hope  and  expe- 
rience shall  here  be  planted  together,  that  our 
growth  may  be  lusty,  and  the  vast  tree  wave  its 
benediction  to  the  sunset.  The  old  world  bends 
a slow,  wise  smile  over  these  youthful  ardors, 
but  the  look  is  kindly;  perhaps  it  is  born  of 
the  knowledge  that  he  who  conceives  daringly 
shall  not  achieve  sparingly ; perhaps  the  smile 
is  tempered  by  the  thought  that  all  mortal  con- 
ception is  the  germ  of  immortal  fruition,  upon 
which  another  sun  shall  beam,  if  not  his  own. 

Herbert  Gregory’s  reflections,  which  we  have 
endeavored  to  express,  however  imperfectly, 
ran  somewhat  into  this  same  channel  of  pride 
and  satisfaction  with  his  native  land,  as  he 
passed  through  the  college  grounds,  one  early 
autumn  afternoon,  toward  his  father’s  house. 


INTRODUCTION 


7 


He  had  just  come  back  from  a tour  through 
Europe,  the  immediate  sequence  of  his  aca- 
demic career,  and  with  the  benefit  of  travel 
on  one  hand,  and  the  happiness  of  return  on 
the  other,  it  was  not  a cause  for  astonishment 
that  he  should  appreciate,  with  a far  keener 
sense  than  ever  before,  the  bounties  and  sig- 
nificance of  his  home.  To  the  untravelled, 
if  Herbert  had  been  tempted  at  this  time  to 
unfold  his  feeling  to  any  such,  we  can  fancy 
the  dispraise  of  wandering  as  affecting  his  lis- 
tener with  a kind  of  disgust,  or  even  doubt  of 
his  sincerity ; perhaps,  with  something  of  the 
same  feeling  which  young  readers  have,  when 
attempting  to  enjoy  the  translation  of  a classic, 
the  favorite  with  their  learned  teacher,  who  de- 
lights himself  daily  over  the  original,  while  his 
pupils  toil  wearily  as  through  stubble-land,  per- 
plexed by  the  enthusiasm  they  see  inspired. 
But  Herbert  had  just  quitted  his  friend  Bus- 
sell, now  soberly  enough  settled  at  home  in  con- 


8 


ASPHODEL. 


nection  with  the  University.  His  European  ex- 
perience was  an  aiSfair  of  the  past,  yet  Herbert 
was  pleased  to  discover  that  Russell  agreed 
with  him  perfectly  in  regard  to  the  superior 
incentive  (and  therefore  the  superior  advan- 
tage) of  life  in  America.  It  was  possible  that 
the  simple  old  library,  with  its  spacious  window- 
seats,  and  broad  windows  looking  out  among 
the  pines,  the  crackling  logs  on  the  hearth, 
and  Edith’s  chair  beside  the  fire,  where  she 
had  been  sitting  with  them  that  autumn  after- 
noon, had  some  slight  influence  upon  Russell’s 
opinion,  expressed  decidedly  in  disfavor  of 
American  youth  who  give  their  valuable  time 
to  European  travel;  but  whatever  the  reason 
might  be,  it  was  doubtless  sufficiently  good, 
since  it  was  sincere.  It  was  a favorite  idea, 
also,  with  Russell,  although  an  eccentric  one, 
that  even  the  romance  writer  could  find  no 
better  groundwork  and  material  than  New 
England  affords.  ‘‘  Where,”  he  would  say, 


INTRODUCTION. 


9 


enthusiastically,  wherS'  can  Spring  tread  more 
daintily  than  here ! If  we  wait  long  for  her, 
there  is  a rapture  when  she  is  at  length  un- 
veiled, which  the  March  anemones  of  the  Pam- 
fili  Doria  or  the  velvet  green  of  England  might 
well  envy.  And  Summer,  too,  a season  of 
rich  surprises,  with  days  which  seem  to  be 
swept  from  the  Orient,  when  the  whole  atmos- 
phere palpitates,  and  man  and  beast  yield  to 
the  midnight  stillness  of  noon ; and  those  other 
days,  in  quick  succession,  when  the  air  breathes 
of  icebergs,  and  the  sky  is  pale  pellucid  blue 
from  dawn  till  dark,  when  suddenly  with  an- 
other morning  come  the  clouds,  and  rain,  and 
odors  of  the  sea,  brought  inland  on  the  wings 
of  northeast  gales ; and  afterward  Autumn, 
with  the  unspeakable  splendors  of  his  drapery ; 
and  Winter,  with  snow  and  firelight,  long  and 
dreary  enough,  except  for  the  Fortunate  Isl- 
ands of  home  ; — what  more  than  these  could 
a new  enchanter  desire  ? 


10 


ASPHODEL 


This  ready  eloquence  of  Kussell,  which  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  express  to  his  friend  in  the 
somewhat  florid  manner  we  have  indicated, 
naturally  served  to  confirm  Herbert  in  the 
opinion  he  had  already  formed.  Nor  did  the 
sentiment  of  patriotism,  if  we  may  dignify  his 
half-developed  feeling  by  such  a name,  grow 
less,  but  rather  stronger,  when,  after  a year  or 
two  of  drifting  in  waves  of  uncertainty  with 
regard  to  his  career,  he  ^at  last  established  his 
own  library-fireside  at  ‘‘  The  Cliff,”  where, 
a few  years  having  passed,  we  find  him  with 
his  wife  Alice*  and  his  children,  — the  stately 
ship  of  life  riding  with  safety  in  its  serene 
harbor,  held  fast  by  the  divine  anchorage  of 
home. 


II. 


MORNING. 

TT  was  a dawn  of  Spring.  The  early  breezes 
^ catching  the  whisper  of  Day  in  the  far  east, 
awoke  the  sleepers  of  the  world  before  his 
beams  appeared,  waving  and  swaying  the  cool 
mists  which  overlay  the  face  of  the  dry  earth, 
as  the  wind  may  play  with  and  flutter  the  face- 
cloth of  the  dead.  But  soon  the  solemn  morn- 
ing purpled  and  broadened  into  heaven-wide 
circles,  until  at  length  it  bloomed  upon  the 
sky,  a vast  rose-garden  of  Divinity.  As  in 
our  narrow  household  world  a lady  watches 
through  the  lucent  doors  of  her  home  garden 
the  purpling  and  widening,  and  at  length  the 
rosy  unfolding  of  the  broad  Azalia  splen- 
dens,”  so,  for  all  Nature  and  the  world  of 
humanity,  blossomed  the  slow  morning,  and 
widened  into  the  beauty  of  broad  day. 


12 


ASPHODEL, 


There  was  no  mist  in  the  soul  of  Alice 
Gregory  when  she  awoke,  only  the  full  strength 
of  the  morning  of  love  ; but  as  the  fatal  clouds 
which  obscure  the  sun  often  arise  after  a clear 
unveiling  of  his  beams,  so  came  her  after- 
thought, and  the  memory  of  approaching  sepa- 
ration. Herbert  was  that  day  to  leave  her  for 
a sea-voyage,  in  search  of  health  (the  true 
talisman  of  this  world’s  good,  which  had  been 
shorn  from  him  by  the  modern  Delilah,  Over- 
work), and  his  early  hour  of  departure  was 
at  hand.  She  arose  hastily,  and,  while  she 
gathered  her  abundant  hair,  memory  came  to 
tell  her  that  thus  far  only  the  lights  of  life 
had  shone  upon  her ; to-day  its  shadows  would 
fall,  and  a touch  of  the  white  frost  of  care, 
which  leaves  silver  threads  in  dark  clusters 
such  as  she  was  then  binding  together,  would 
mark  their  advent.  Yet  even  these  white 
threads,  she  remembered,  serve  to  lead  us  in 
safety,  with  uplifted  eyes,  through  the  diffi- 


MORNING. 


IS 

cult  passages  of  the  world,  out  into  a purer 
existence. 

Clamorous  nursery  cries  aroused  her.  She 
opened  the  door  leading  to  her  children’s  room, 
and  found  them  already  impatient  to  accom- 
pany her  to  the  beach.  She  had  promised 
this  happiness,  with  her  bedside  kiss,  the  night 
before.  She  knew  all  children  are  happy  on  a 
beach ; it  is  their  eternal  wonder-world. 

“ Your  father  is  going  away,  far  away,”  she 
said,  gently  stilling  their  turbulence  with  a 
quiet  manner  native  to  her,  “ come  with  me 
to  the  shore  now,  children,  and  see  his  little 
boat.” 

They  ran  eagerly  to  her  sMe,  and  danced 
about  her  footsteps  as  she  descended.  Herbert 
was  at  the  water’s  edge  before  them,  watching 
the  safe  conveyance  to  the  ship  of  box  and  bag 
carefully  prepared  by  Alice.  He  did  not  per- 
ceive her  approach,  until  the  clear  voices  of  his 
children  warned  him;  then  he  started,  as  if 


14 


ASPHODEL. 


with  pain ; but  in  a moment  turned  upon  them 
with  a warm,  strong  smile,  such  as  had 
made  the  daily  sunshine  of  his  wife.  Already 
she  seemed  to  feel  its  brightness  pale,  and  her 
own  responsive  beams  to  fade  as  dreams  depart 
before  one  hastily  awakened.  He  did  not 
speak  to  her,  but  seized  their  boy,  according 
to  his  morning  custom,  kissed  his  cheeks,  and 
puzzled  him  by  crying,  “ Here  is  honey-dew ! 
while  Ernest  clung  closely  to  him,  ready  for 
the  wildest  frolic.  Allegra,  on  the  contrary, 
timid  and  tender  as  a spring  violet,  stood  half 
hidden  in  her  mother’s  skirts. 

The  little  group  waited  a few  moments  by  the 

% 

shore,  listening  for  the  sound  of  the  returning 
oars  to  break  the  stillness.  Soon  the  dip  and 
gurgle  were  distinctly  heard,  and  shortly  after 
the  red  shirts  of  the  boatmen  gleamed  in  the 
mist,  and  the  keel  grated  on  the  sand.  Last 
words  were  few,  for  tears  shone  in  the  eyes  of 
Alice,  and  Herbert  dared  not  speak  either  for 


MORNING. 


15 


himself  or  her  ; but  the  children’s  voices  were 
now  busy  in  a strange  refrain  of  laughter, 
making  the  desolation  of  parting  appear  more 
profound  than  before.  As  he  sprang  lightly 
into  the  boat,  little  Ernest  leaving  his  play  ran 
towards  him,  shouting,  Papa,  I ’m  a big  boy 
now,  let  me  go,  too,”  but  the  oarsmen  had 
already  shoved  away  from  the  shore,  and  the 
rays  of  the  newly  risen  sun  were  shooting  their 
busy  shuttles  through  the  mist  and  fringes  of 
the  rippling  waves,  until  with  each  oar-stroke 
the  boat  seemed  to  lose  itself  in  a glamour 
impenetrable  at  last  to  the  dazzled  eyes  of 
Alice. 

Then  she  turned  away,  and  calling  the  chil- 
dren, walked  toward  her  home.  As  she  as- 
cended the  cliff,  she  saw  the  distant  sea  was 
calm,  and  the  fresh  blue  was  waking  on  its 
face.  But  the  slow  waves  breaking  below  her 
feet ; the  knoll  radiant  with  dew-strung  grass, 
upon  which  she  stood ; the  garden  gate ; and 


16 


ASPHODEL. 


the  blooming,  swaying  branches  above  her 
head, — brought  a deeper  meaning  in  their 
loveliness  to-day,  eloquent  of  the  happy,  un- 
returning past.  Soon  she  found  herself  under 
the  broad  awning  of  the  hospitable  piazza, 
whence  she  gazed  wistfully  out,  hoping  to  see 
the  departing  ship.  For  a moment  it  was  pos- 
sible to  discern  the  filling  sails ; then  the  winds 
seemed  to  bear  the  winged  thing  suddenly  out 
of  the  world  into  the  golden  chambers  of  the 
East. 

Alice  looked  abroad  over  the  earth  then, 
and  watched  the  day.  The  dew  of  youth,  and 
the  mystery  of  morning  had  fled,  and  the 
approaching  sun  of  noon  was  ripening  the 
dim  purpose  they  foreshadowed.  It  lighted 
the  sharp  edges  of  the  world,  and  gave  her 
pain,  until  she  saw  the  great  rocks  of  Love 
and  Friendship  fling  their  broad  and  kindly 
shadows  over  her  weary  land.  How  beauti- 
ful her  morning  had  been!  She  asked  her- 


MORNING. 


17 


self,  “ Shall  not  the  noon,  too,  be  lustrous 
with  its  skies  of  deeper  blue  and  fruit  sunned 
by  beams  of  the  Orient,  even  though  watered 
well  by  the  storm-days  of  life  ? ” 


III. 


FRIENDSHIP. 

LICE  ceased  gazing  at  the  wide  horizon. 


^ ^ now  shut  down  silently  over  the  absent 
one,  silently  as  shuts  the  veil  of  death  when 
the  play  of  life  is  ended ; then  she  entered  the 
house  through  the  long,  low  windows  of  the 
library.  The  place  was  redolent  of  flowers ; 
heaps  on  heaps  lay  in  one  tangled  dewy  mass 
upon  the  table  where  Herbert  had  evidently 
thrown  them,  knowing  this  early  morning 
labor  would  find  due  appreciation.  Wild-wood 
favorites  rifled  from  deep  hidden  nooks,  gar- 
den companions,  and  the  common  wayside 
friends  lay  together  in  beautiful  and  unwonted 
proximity. 

‘‘  Mamma,”  cried  Ernest,  who  was  standing 
by,  eager  to  see  his  mother’s  delight  over  this 


FRIENDSHIP, 


19 


endless  mass  of  blooms,  may  Ally  and  I bring 
you  the  vase  to  put  them  in  ? ” and,  before 
she  could  reply,  the  two  had  scampered  off, 
and  were  again  on  the  threshold  with  their 
chubby  hands  clenched  over  the  delicate  ala- 
baster of  the  pretty  Warwick  model,  both 
staggering  under  the  weight  and  responsibility. 

^^Now,  children,”  said  she,  when  the  pre- 
cious freight  was  safely  landed  at  her  feet, 
“ run  to  the  south  room,  and  tell  the  lady 
who  came  last  night,  that  papa  has  brought 
flowers,  and  mamma  would  like  her  to  see 
them.” 

A gliding  step  on  the  doorway  arrested  the 
children  in  their  second  flight,  and  caused 
them  to  look  timidly  towards  the  lovely  per- 
son whom  their  father  had  told  them  was  to 
be  their  friend  and  teacher. 

Erminia,”  said  Alice,  after  their  morning 
salutation,  I remembered  the  habit  of  early 
rising  which  you  acquired  during  our  school 


20 


ASPHODEL. 


days.  It  is  not  one  easily  relinquished,  hav- 
ing been  once  thoroughly  learned,  and  I was 
about  to  send  the  children  to  invite  you  to  join 
me.  I owe  much  to  you,  and  not  the  least 
of  my  debts  is  a knowledge  of  those  noble 
verses  by  Henry  Vaughan,  beginning, 

‘When  first  mine  eyes  unveil/ 

Have  you  forgotten  them?’^ 

No,’’  said  Erminia,  as  she  rescued  a bloom- 
ing rose,  entangled  in  a mass  of  Mitchella  vine, 
“ I love  those  verses  still,  and  better  that  we 
first  came  to  know  each  other,  as  it  were, 
through  them.  But  where  shall  I put  this 
exquisite  cluster  ? ” and  she  held  up,  as  she 
spoke,  a little  vase  of  flowers  which  her  speedy 
fingers  had  already  arranged. 

“ Surely  that  is  beautiful  enough  for  the 
western  chamber,”  answered  Alice ; yet,  while 
speaking  of  the  vase,  she  looked  chiefly  at  her 
friend,  who  never  appeared  to  her  more  lovely. 
The  slender  group  of  lilies  and  roses,  relieved 


FRIENDSHIP. 


21 


against  the  deep  blue  of  her  dress;  the  sun- 
shine streaming  through  her  rich  ‘‘  Venetian’^ 
hair,  causing  the  gold  gleams  hidden  there  to 
shine;  and  especially  a sweet  simplicity  of 
manner,  an  unconsciousness  which  is  the  soul 
of  beauty,  made  her  inexpressibly  lovely  to 
Alice. 

‘‘  That  room  is  to  be  EusselFs,”  she  con- 
tinued, ^^he  is  an  old  friend  of  Herbert,  as 
you  know  well,  and  I wish  his  welcome  'to 
be  kindly  and  affectionate  at  least,  since  his 
visit  must  needs  be  dull  without  his  compan- 
ion. His  little  daughter  Fanny,  who  is  her 
father’s  only  earthly  joy  now,  shall  have  the 
cabinet  a^'oining  for  her  bedroom.  Ernest, 
you  may  tell  Marion  to  show  the  way  to  the 
west  room,  and  arrange  it  for  our  guest.” 

Erminia  heard  Alice’s  directions  for  the 
comfortable  establishing  of  Eussell  undisturbed 
by  feeling  of  anxiety  with  regard  to  his  arrival. 
She  knew  something  of  his  character  and  his- 


22 


ASPHODEL, 


tory,  and  although  she  felt  a sincere  interest 
in  his  career,  there  seemed  invincible  barriers 
between  them,  which  proximity  must  only 
widen.  His  genius  (for  the  world  worshipped 
it  as  such)  ; his  pride  of  family,  and  conse- 
quent position  in  society;  the  recent  loss  of 
a wife,  lovely  and  beloved,  eminent  for  talent 
and  devotion  to  her  home ; the  flattery  of 
strangers,  and  caresses  of  private  circles, — 
all  these  things,  contrasted  with  her  own  es- 
tranged and  unregarded  existence,  made  Er- 
minia  feel  not  only  the  distance  between  her- 
self and  Alice’s  distinguished  guest,  but  she 
saw  that  the  cares  of  her  position  would  not 
be  slight  if  she  were  able  to  fulfil  the  duties 
she  desired  to  assume.  Much  of  Alice’s  time 
would  necessarily  be  occupied  with  him,  she 
thought,  or  with  the  friends  he  attracted  to 
the  house.  She  determined,  therefore,  to 
make  it  her  duty  and  pleasure  not  only  to 
guard  the  children’s  welfare  but  to  oversee 


FRIENDSHIP. 


23 


the  business  of  the  household,  so  far  as  this 
should  prove  a possible  and  real  service  to 
Alice.  These  duties  she  felt  would  shelter  her 
somewhat  from  the  labor  of  receiving  visitors, 
the  present  condition  of  her  mind  rendering 
her  unfit  for  social  enjoyment. 

At  this  juncture  of  their  lives  the  value  of 
the  school  friendship  they  had  enjoyed  be- 
came doubly  apparent  to  Alice  and  Erminia. 
They  were  not  obliged  to  grope  blindly,  while 
endeavoring  to  adapt  themselves  to  each  other. 
Alice  felt  the  presence  of  her  friend  as  a con- 
tinual balm  and  consolation ; while  for  Er- 
minia, left  solitary  in  the  world  by  her  father’s 
death,  the  delicate  sympathies  of  her  compan- 
ion were  ever  ready  to  understand  and  shield 
her. 

So  different  are  the  manifestations  of  grief, 
one  could  not  easily  divine  from  the  appear- 
ance of  Erminia  that  the  floods  of  sorrow  had 
gone  over  her.  Habitually  calm,  and  in- 


24 


ASPHODEL. 


structed  under  the  watchful  eye  of  her  father, 
who  lived  the  life  of  a recluse,  she  wore  daily, 
over  a spirit  swayed  by  every  wind  of  joy  and 
every  note  of  sorrow,  a well-poised  character, 
which  enabled  her  to  act  without  too  great 
hesitation,  and  without  subsequent  regret ; and 
where  a superior  judgment  came  to  her  assist- 
ance, she  recognized  its  power  and  rejoiced 
in  its  repose.  Her  self-reliance  became  nat- 
urally more  strongly"  accentuated  when  her 
earthly  guide  and  instructor  was  withdrawn 
from  her  side.  It  veiled  her  from  the  eyes  of 
the  world,  simply,  yet  as  securely  as  the  arts 
of  Prospero  could ; and  sometimes  that  was 
accounted  to  her  as  pride  which  was  only  the 
strength  and  height  of  true  humility. 

Erminia  was  scarcely  twelve  years  old  when 
her  mother  died,  and  two  maiden  aunts  came 
to  reside  with  her  father  and  herself.  They 
found  the  young  girl  somewhat  restive  under 
their  unaccustomed  restraints,  and  after  a few 


FRIENDSHIP, 


25 


passages  at  arms  in  which,  to  say  the  least, 
they  were  but  poorly  seconded  by  her  father, 
they  were  convinced  that  the  tasks  of  sub- 
duing the  child  and  comprehending  her  par- 
ent’s idea  for  her  education  transcended  the 
limit  of  their  ability.  They  willingly  resigned 
the  father  and  daughter,  after  a few  months 
of  endeavor,  to  a loneliness  which  was  evi- 
dently far  too  agreeable  to  satisfy  the  afflicted 
vanity  of  the  two  ladies. 

In  truth  it  was  an  unspeakably  happy  pair. 
The  child  who  appeared  so  wilful  and  way- 
ward under  uncongenial  control  became  with 
her  father,  what  he  believed  her  to  be,  the 
most  docile  of  pupils,  and  humble  as  a lover. 
She  surprised  him  by  her  precocity  in  cer- 
tain branches  of  education,  in  those  especially 
which  she  had  chosen ; for  he  desired  to  give 
her  a certain  freedom  of  selection,  provided 
the  study,  whatever  it  might  be,  were  per- 
formed with  integrity  and  vigor. 


2 


26 


ASPHODEL. 


Such  was  their  life,  while  the  moons  waxed 
and  waned,  and  the  child  became  a woman, 
*and  the  autumn  grew  to  winter.  At  last  a 
night  shut  down  in  which  the  silentness  of 
death  overspread  the  beloved  features  of  the 
old  man,  and  Erminia  was  left  solitary  in  the 
quiet  cottage. 

After  a time  she  was  able  to  recall  the 
happy  hours  of  devotion  and  faith  she  might 
never  know  again,  and  so  companion  her  dim 
solitude.  And  then  came  the  old  school  friend- 
ship for  Alice,  giving  color  to  her  life  once 
more.  That,  indeed,  was  like  a calm  harbor 
always,  in  the  tempestuous  sea  of  years  which 
seemed  to  outstretch  before  her. 

In  a letter  to  Alice,  at  this  time,  she  wrote : 
‘‘  Seven  years  ago,  upon  your  marriage  day, 
I grieved  and  wept.  In  my  girlish  weakness, 
I feared  I had  lost  something,  being  ignorant 
of  the  divine  mystery  of  married  love  to  en- 
large the  possibilities  of  life.  After  these  years 


FRIENDSHIP, 


27 


of  experience  I find  how  much  I have  gained, 
and  when  I think  of  you,  I feel  myself  sur- 
rounded by  loving  hearts You  may 

perhaps  wonder  when  we  meet  to  see  me 
wearing  none  of  the  habiliments  of  grief,  and 
I must  anticipate  your  surprise  by  explaining 
that  it  was  the  wish  of  my  dear  father  to  ban- 
ish such  array.  A woman  folded  in  crape 
always  made  him  shudder.  ^ That  person 
throws  a gloom  over  my  day ! ’ he  would  ex- 
claim, ^ Does  she  mean  to  closet  herself  with 
death,  and  receive  no  higher  companionship  ? 
Do  these  people  believe  all  the  sorrow  of  the 
world  belongs  to  them  ? ’ 

66  6 Erminia,’  he  said,  a few  days  before  his 
death,  when  hardly  conscious  of  his  words,  ‘ I 
remember  how  she  looked  the  day  I asked  her. 
She  did  not  say,  Yes,’’  but  turned  her  face 
away,  and  the  quick  blush  stained  her  cheek 
far  down  till  the  ruffle  hid  it,  and  a tear 
dropped  on  her  blue  robe  as  she  laid  her  hand 


28 


ASPHODEL, 


in  mine.  Erminia,  don’t  forget  how  much 
I like  to  see  yon  wear  bine ; yonr  mother  wore 
bine  ! ’ I think,  after  this,  he  spoke  little,  bnt 
lay  as  if  peacefnlly  absorbed  in  reminiscence, 
until  the  last  solemn  honrs,  when  he  ronsed 
himself  to  disconrse  on  holy  themes. 

To-morrow  I leave  this  old  honse.  It 
seems  like  coldly  forsaking  all  I love  best;  I 
snppose,  the  entire  solitnde  is  not  good ; at 
least  so  my  annts  endeavor  to  persnade  me, 
and  for  a time  I mnst  yield  my  wish  to  theirs. 
Bnt  I can  confide  to  no  one  the  joys  of  the 
divine  companionship  I receive  while  walking 
in  the  paths  he  made,  and  following  his  van- 
ished footsteps  throngh  the  little  wood.  Here 
we  are  not  separated;  he  draws  me  to  his 
snpreme  height,  and  every  leaf,  and  the  en- 
lightening rays  of  each  expiring  day  seem  like 
whisperings  of  his  spirit  close  to  mine. 

hardly  know  how  I have  been  enabled 
to  say  this,  even  to  yon,  dear  Alice,  bnt  it  shall 


FRIENDSHIP. 


29 


stand,  that  you  may  know  when  we  meet  and 
talk  cheerfully  on  other  themes,  perhaps,  that 
life  has  become  possible,  and  my  heart  is  at 
peace.  Already  received  into  the  saints’  rest 
through  the  love^^f  my  vanished  one,  my  spirit 
cannot  be  disturbed  by  storms  at  any  lower 
level. 

‘‘  I shall  soon  return  to  this  place,  I can- 
not be  away.  Old  Nancy  clings  to  me  as  if  I 
were  her  all,  and  will  cajole  blossoms  into  the 
dead  garden  before  I see  it  again.  Here  she 
comes  already  with  the  first  snowdrop.  Fare- 
well.” 

There  were  frequent  letters  between  the  two 
ladies  subsequent  to  this ; more  frequent,  per- 
haps, on  the  part  of  Erminia  than  of  Alice, 
who  found  the  cares  and  pre-occupations  of 
her  life  too  absorbing  to  make  it  easy  to  write 
often.  Her  delinquencies  in  this  respect  were 
made  good,  however,  by  a three  days  visit  she 
found  time  to  pay  her  friend  in  company  with 
her  husband  and  Russell  and  his  wife. 


30 


ASPHODEL. 


What  happy  days  they  were ! How  often 
Erminia,  afterward,  sitting  alone  by  her  cot- 
tage window,  overlooking  the  undulating  mead- 
ows and  the  shifting  shadows  on  the  corn, 
would  recall  the  sweet,  pale  face  of  Russell’s 
wife,  and  his  anxious  loving  glance ; or  at 
times  would  remember,  less  pensively,  those 
long  hours  under  the  pines,  when  the  new 
poem  was  first  read  which  had  since  made 
Russell  famous ; his  merry  jests,  too,  would 
come  back  to  her,  and  the  dance  of  responsive 
light  in  the  brown  eyes  of  Alice,  and  Herbert. 

Once,  as  the  twilight  faded  from  the  land- 
scape, so  impalpably  that  day  seemed  to  pause 
and  invite  the  weary  children  of  the  world 
to  rest  their  hearts  in  its  ineffable  beauty, 
she  sat  and  looked,  and  thought  upon  her 
friends.  Suddenly  a voice  like  Russell’s,  cry- 
ing “ Edith,”  as  if  across  the  gulf  of  time, 
came  to  her.  Then  she  knew  Edith  was  dead, 
and  that  Russell  stood  alone. 


FRIENDSHIP. 


81 


FEOM  A LETTER  OF  ALICE  TO  ERMINIA. 

“ Do  not  refuse  our  request,  dear  Erminia ; 
it  is  necessary  for  Herbert’s  health  that  he 
should  go  away,  yet  it  will  in  a measure  allevi- 
ate the  pain  of  his  departure,  I am  sure,  if  he 
feels  you  will  be  at  home  here  during  his 
absence.  Beside,  for  our  children’s  sake,  I 
must  urge  it.  I cannot  send  them  away  to 
school  while  there  is  a hope  left  me  of  your 
care  and  instruction.  Perhaps  this  argument 
may  prevail  with  you  before  every  other.  The 
necessity  of  occupation  is  the  true  spur  to 
energetic  life,  and  you  are  rigorous  in  the 
demands  you  make  upon  yourself!  There- 
fore I feel  you  will  find  no  uncongenial  sphere 
* 

for  your  labors  here  with  my  children.  It  has 
long  been  a part  of  my  creed  that  the  parent 
cannot  make  the  best  instructor  of  the  child. 
A fresh  mind  impelling  the  intellect  through 
unwonted  channels,  and  a fresh  heart  whose 


32 


ASPHODEL, 


sympathies  forerun  the  religious  aspiration  of 
the  growing  soul,  may  be  like  a torch  and 
guiding  hand  to  lead  it  through  the  mysteri- 
ous passages  of  life,  where  else  it  may  stumble 
blindfold.  Perhaps  the  child  fears  to  confide 
to  one  so  wise  as  his  parent  appears  to  him, 
lest  his  fancies,  and:  those  strange  winds  of 
feeling  which  sweep  across  the  sunny  plains 
of  being,  may  be  regarded  as  mere  foolishness. 
But  what  can  he  not  lay  in  holy  confidence 
upon  the  newly  erected  altar  of  friendship! 
Beside  is  not  religion  aspiration  ? And  what 
can  quicken  a child’s  nature  more  truly  than 
contact  with  a new  individual,  who  speaks  to 
him  from  a heart  of  noble  endeavor  ? Thus 
is  reverence  awakened,  that  keystone  by  which 
the  arches  of  life  are  strengthened  and  their 

beauty  sealed 

I must  not  omit  to  tell  you  that  Herbert 
besought  Russell  to  come  with  little  Fanny 
and  make  his  home  here  during  the  autumn 


FRIENDSHIP. 


33 


and  winter.  It  is  yet  more  than  doubtful  if 
he  accedes  to  our  arrangement,  but  we  shall 
not  allow  this  new  plan,  even  if  it  prove  feas- 
ible, to  interfere  with  the  retirement  of  your 
life  while  here.  ^ 

“ I hope  for  you  and  await  you,  my  dear 
friend!  Your  presence  will  alleviate  the  weight 
of  the  difficult  burden  I must  bear.” 

Therefore,  Erminia  went. 


IV. 


AN  EXCURSION. 

HE  days  passed  swiftly  and  peacefully 


at  ‘‘  The  Cliff.”  Alice  had  scarcely 


allowed  herself  to  hope  for  the  repose  which 


succeeded  her  arrangements.  They  had  been 
made  with  reference  to  the  well-being  of  others, 
— the  happiness  of  the  result  was  felt  by  none 
more  deeply  than  herself. 

The  skill  and  method  of  Erminia  in  her  new 
duties  were  recognized  almost  immediately, 
through  their  effect  upon  the  children.  Her 
direct  influence  was  exercised  for  a few  hours 
of  the  morning  only,  but  it  was  sufficient  to 
render  them  more  thoughtful  and  circumspect 
in  their  relations  to  each  other  during  the  day. 
The  confinement  of  the  school-room  gave  a 
zest  to  the  freedom  which  succeeded,  and  she 


AN  EXCURSION 


35 


joined  the  happy  flight  out  into  the  air  with 
as  much  rapture  as^ither  of  her  pupils.  This 
rule  for  school  hours  as  well  as  play,  once 
quietly  established,  was  seldom  infringed  upon ; 
for  Alice  knew  the  advantage  of  a healthy 
routine  was  not  to  be  lightly  estimated. 

One  morning  little  Fanny  ran  into  her  fa- 
ther’s room  much  earlier  than  usual,  with  all 
the  impetuous  eagerness  of  a child  who  has 
a story  to  tell,  and  finding  him  already  seated 
at  his  desk,  although  it  was  half  an  hour  too 
early  even  for  the  children’s  breakfast,  she 
curled  up  on  his  lap,  saying,  0 papa,  I am 
so  glad  you  are  ready,  because  now  I can  tell 
you  a secret ! Perhaps  I sha’n’t  tell,  after 
all,  but  you  may  guess,  papa,  if  you  can.  I 
love  somebody,  — somebody  beside  you,  dear 
papa ; will  you  try  to  guess  who  it  is  ? ” 

‘‘  Why,  perhaps,”  he  said,  trying  to  make 
the  difiiculty  appear  as  great  as  possible,  “ per- 
haps it  is  your  teacher,  Fanny.” 


36 


ASPHODEL. 


“ Well,  papa,  I don’t  see  how  you  ever 
guessed ; but  you  can’t  think  how  good  she  is, 
and  when  we  have  been  obedient  she  will  sing 
to  us  sometimes,  and  — 0 dear  papa,  how  I 
wish  you  would  ask  her  to  sing  to  you,  it  is 
so  beautiful  to  hear  her!  And  what  do  you 
think  she  did  for  us  yesterday,  when  we  had 
stayed  a little  too  late  in  the  woods,  and  were 
hurrying  home  from  our  walk  in  the  afternoon  ? 
Why,  you  see,  there  had  been  a great  high  tide, 
and  the  ocean  had  washed  right  over  the  short 
path  and  left  a little  pond.  We  tried  to  get 
round  it,  and  tried  and  tried  till  Ally  almost 
tumbled  in ; then  at  last  she  pulled  off  her 
shoes  and  stockings  and  tucked  up  her  dress 
and  carried  us  over  one  by  one  in  her  arms. 
Wasn’t  that  kind,  papa?  My  turn  came  last, 
because  I am  the  tallest,  so  she  gave  me  her 
shoes  and  stockings  to  carry.  I thought  I held 
on  tight,  but  I almost  dropped  them  once  when 
I looked  down  and  was  thinking  how  pretty 


AN  EXCURSION. 


37 


the  water  looked  splashing  up  round  her  feet. 
But  good  by,  papa ; there’s  the  bell,  and  I must 
run,  for  I hear  Ernest  and  Ally  in  the  hall  al- 
ready.” And  down  his  little  girl  slipped  and 
disappeared  before  she  heard,  much  less  an- 
swered, any  further  questions. 

An  hour  later,  when  Bussell  came  into  the 
breakfast-room,  he  found  Alice  and  Erminia  had 
just  entered.  It  was  somewhat  later  than  their 
customary  season,  and  as  he  took  Erminia’s 
hand  he  observed  it  to  be  slightly  hot,  and 
that  she  wore  a heavy  shawl  drawn  about  her ; 
but  her  manner,  which  was  more  gay  and 
sprightly  than  usual,  forbade  special  inquiry 
after  her  health,  and  the  three  were  soon  busily 
engaged  discussing  a new  path  which  Her- 
bert had  long  contemplated  and  desired,  to 
lead  more  directly  to  the  shore,  which  Alice 
had  determined,  with  Bussell’s  assistance,  to 
complete  during  his  absence.  It  was  not  pos- 
sible for  Bussell  to  banish  the  thought  of  Er- 


38 


ASPHODEL. 


minia,  however,  in  connection  with  his  child. 
It  was  she  who  had  incurred  the  ris*k  of  cold 
and  fever  to  save  others,  and  so  quietly  that 
none  might  know  of  it.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
my  thoughtful,  affectionate  little  Fanny,  he 
said  to  himself,  this  kindness  would  have  been 
forgotten ! He  observed  with  deep  feeling 
the  slight  hectic  of  Erminia’s  cheeks,  and  the 
signs  of  evident  sleeplessness.  He  determined 
as  soon  as  possible  to  find  some  opportunity 
to  testify  his  gratitude,  and  in  future  to  ob- 
serve more  closely  a character  which  attracted 
him  in  proportion  as  he  felt  himself  repelled 
by  its  reticence. 

At  this  moment  he  remembered  they  had 
long  been  talking  of  a day’s  excursion  to  a 
famous  rock-ledge  in  the  neighborhood,  called 
by  the  native  dwellers  near  the  sea,  ‘‘  The  Pi- 
rate’s Cross,”  and  he  concluded  to  ask  the  la- 
dies immediately  to  appoint  a time,  the  earliest 
possible,  for  their  intended  ramble.  Then,  at 


AN  EXCURSION. 


39 


least,  he  hoped  to  find  opportunity,  without  too 
many  words,  to  testify  to  Erminia  something 
^of  the  feeling  with  which  her  behaviour  had 
inspired  him  ; to  approach  her  as  a friend,  that 
she  might  feel  he  would  be  ready  to  stand  by 
her  in  any  emergency  her  lonely  life  should 
present,  a true  responsible  arm  of  defence  in 
time  of  need.  He  would  not  say  this  to  her, 
but  he  longed  to  win  her  confidence,  till  she 
should  gently  lean  upon  his  judgment  and  his 
kindness.  Almost  as  speedily  as  these  thoughts 
flashed  through  his  mind,  he  communicated 
his  plan  for  the  excursion  to  Alice,  who  ac- 
ceded to  it  at  once  with  pleasure  for  the  sake 
of  both  her  guests.  She  fancied  Erminia  had 
been  too  closely  confined  of  late,  — but  at  this 
first  hint,  as  if  the  idea  contained  nothing  which 
deeply  concerned  her,  the  one  for  whom  they 
were  both  planning  slipped  quietly  away  to  her 
pupils,  leaving  her  friend  as  usual  to  answer 
for  them  both. 


40 


ASPHODEL, 


On  the  appointed  morning  Russell  was  in 
excellent  spirits.  Everything  favored  his  plans. 
The  neighbors,  if  such  they  might  be  consid- 
ered, the  nearest  estate  lying  at  least  two  miles 
distant  by  the  road,  had  been  asked  to  join  the 
expedition,  and  were  already  assembled  in  their 
country  wagons,  suitable  for  rough  woodland 
travel.  The  ladies  of  the  house  had  not  yet 
made  their  appearance,  and  the  visible  impa- 
tience of  Russell  was  hardly  exceeded  by  that 
of  the  children.  Several  times  he  arranged 
and  re-arranged  the  shawls  over  the  seats  of 
the  empty  wagon  waiting  at  the  door.  Once 
he  walked  quickly  across  the  hall  as  if  he 
would  ascend  the  staircase  and  summon  them, 
but  returned  as  quickly  to  the  piazza,  and, 
gathering  the  children  about  him,  seemed  de- 
termined to  make  the  best  of  a bad  case,  and 
to  amuse  himself  in  amusing  them  until  the 
time  for  starting  should  arrive.  He  had  scarce- 
ly resigned  himself  to  this  new  occupation 


AN  EXCURSION. 


41 


when  Alice  ran  swiftly  down  the  stairs,  her  eyes 
aglow,  and  with  a slightly  heightened  color  in 
her  cheeks.  In  a moment  she  was  in  the  wa- 
gon and  the  children  beside  her. 

But  Erminia  ? ” said  Russell  inquiringly. 
She  will  not  go  with  us  to-day,”  was  Alice’s 
quick  answer. 

“ Did  you  say  Erminia  would  not  go  ? ” he 
replied,  as  if  the  possibility  of  this  disappoint- 
ment then  first  occurred  to  his  mind. 

He  was  about  to  question  Alice  more  closely, 
when  the  thought  suggested  itself,  that  he  had 
no  right  to  demand  a reason  she  did  not  choose 
to  give,  — and  what  was  Erminia’s  absence  to 
him  farther  than  a disappointment,  because  he 
must  defer  still  longer  the  expression  of  his 
gratitude  for  her  constant  and  devoted  care 
of  his  child.  Therefore  recovering  himself  al- 
most immediately,  he  merely  remarked,  I 
hope  she  is  well  this  bright  morning  ? ” 

0,  quite  well,  I assure  you,”  said  Alice ; 


42 


ASPHODEL. 


look  upj  children,  and  let  us  wave  our  fare- 
well ! ’’ 

The  eyes  of  the  little  party  were  immedi- 
ately raised  to  where  Erminia  stood  to  watch 
their  departure,  upon  the  balcony  over  the  pi- 
azza; and  if  any  doubt  with  regard  to  her 
health  remained  with  Kussell  after  Alice’s 
frank  reply,  it  must  have  vanished  speedily 
when  he  glanced  up  with  the  others  to  say. 
Good  morning,”  and  met  her  glowing  face, 
as  she  kissed  her  hand  to  the  children.  He 
did  not  fail  to  see  the  blush  which  threw 
its  delicate  color  over  her  cheek,  but  he  failed 
to  see  himself  as  the  cause  of  it. 

Let  us  lead  the  way  now,”  said  Alice,  and 
they  drove  speedily  down  the  sweeping  avenue, 
greeting  their  friends  as  they  passed  with  an 
invitation  to  fall  into  an  impromptu  procession. 
And  while  the  merry  company  whirled  on  to- 
ward the  rendezvous,  even  the  rear-guard  forgot 
the  discomfort  of  their  somewhat  dusty  position 


AN  EXCURSION 


43 


in  the  gleaming  magnificence  of  the  morning 
sea.  But  it  was  long  before  Bussell  recovered 
the  tone  of  his  spirits.  He  was  disappointed 
his  plan  should  have  failed,  and  felt  half  in- 
clined to  blame  Alice  for  its  non-fulfilment. 
Yet  her  serene  sunshine,  together  with  the 
contagious  gayety  of  the  children,  helped  to 
disperse  his  clouds ; although  the  chief  en- 
chantment lay  perhaps,  after  all,  in  the  exqui- 
site loveliness  of  the  autumn  morning.  In 
this  aftermath  of  summer,  one  must  indeed  be 
unimpressionable  not  to  discern  that  Nature 
claims  certain  days  for  her  own,  quite  as  much 
as  during  the  heat  of  July  or  the  jewel  days  of 
June. 

As  they  passed  a well-known  farmer’s  house, 
Bussell  perceived  two  men  just  starting  with 
their  guns  for  a day’s  shooting.^  An  easy 
lounging  gait  was  the  only  expression  of  their 
enjoyment;  but  the  boy  who  followed  them,  al 
though  evidently  bent  on  a close  imitation  of 


44 


ASPHODEL, 


the  sang-froid  of  his  elders,  could  not  restrain 
the  gayety  of  his  eye  nor  the  occasional  sharp 
whistle  of  a lively  air. 

At  length,  as  the  wagons  entered  the  wood- 
land where  they  were  soon  to  stop,  Alice  could 
not  but  observe  how  pretty  the  effect  was  of 
the  winding  procession,  now  hidden  among 
pines  and  cedars  and  now  emerging  upon 
cleared  spaces,  or  suddenly  coming  upon  trees 
with  low  entwining  branches,  and  to  see  the 
arms  of  the  young  girls  thrusting  aside  the 
stiff  fingers  of  the  evergreen,  or  pulling  the 
long  boughs  of  coralline  barberries  during  their 
slow  progress.  When  farther  advance  became 
at  last  impossible,  no  one  was  more  active  for 
the  general  good  than  Russell.  He  managed 
to  send  a party  forward  on  foot  with  the  bas- 
kets for  their  rural  feast,  and  to  interest  Alice 
in  conversation  with  one  of  her  neighbors ; and 
thus  having  performed  what  he  considered  his 
duty  on  the  occasion,  he  escaped  with  the 


AN  EXCURSION, 


45 


children  by  a slightly  diverging  path  towards 
a favorite  point  he  knew  well,  near  the  sea. 
He  felt  a desire  for  solitude ; and  remembering 
a little  cove  where  the  children  would  soon 
become  absorbed  in  play,  he  felt  he  could  be 
utterly  alone  while  watching  them  and  the 
ceaseless  dashing  of  the  waves.  He  did  not 
know  how  little  he  really  wished  for  loneli- 
ness ; — how  he  distanced  himself  from  the 
friends  he  saw  around  him,  only  to  seek  the 
presence  of  another.  It  was  wisely  said  by 
Jean  Paul,  ^‘We  could  not  endure  solitude 
were  it  not  for  the  powerful  companionship  of 
hope,  or  of  some  unseen  one,”  and  to-day  the 
unseen  one,”  whom  they  had  left  behind,  rose 
like  a sun  upon  his  spirit.  He  sighed  to  think 
her  light  might  shine  for  other  systems,  but 
never,  it  seemed,  upon  his.  To  him  it  only 
gleamed  from  afar,  as  a distant  planet  may  live 
and  burn  in  the  very  radiance  of  our  sunset, 
and  tell  us  of  strange  limitless  spaces  made 


46 


ASPHODEL. 


glorious  by  beams  which  we  can  only  distantly 
divine  or  know  in  dreams. 

The  hours  of  the  day  passed  quickly  with 
Erminia.  Alice  had  urged  her  to  accompany 
them  as  strongly  as  she  dared ; but  those  few 
words  when  they  parted  the  night  before,  Rus- 
sell wishes  you  to  go,  dear  Erminia,”  made  it 
appear  impossible.  What  could  she  be  to  him, 
she  questioned,  that  he  should  ask  her  to  go ! 
To  a person,  so  lonely,  and  dependent  upon 
herself,  a spark  of  kindness  was  a flame,  and 
she  scarcely  dared  suffer  one  to  alight  upon 
her  heart.  She  thought  Russell  could  hardly 
find  cause  to  occupy  himself  much  about  her ; 
but  he  was  Fanny’s  father,  and  she  could 
perhaps  make  his  burden  less  difficult  by  great 
carefulness  for  his  child.  She  fancied  between 
• herself  and  one  so  justly  distinguished  there 
was  a wide  distance,  yet  she  listened  to  no 
conversation  with  warmer  enthusiasm  than  to 
his ; and  although  she  seldom  replied,  her 


AN  EXgURSION. 


47 


whole  being  was  for  the  time  absorbed  in  hear- 
ing and  recalling  his  expressions.  How  happy 
she  was  in  Alice’s  household  ! if  only  to  be 
near  a friend  so  beautiful,  noble,  and  great  as 
Russell,  and  able  in  any  way  to  minister  to 
him ! Yet  she  would  never  willingly  trust  her- 
self where  his  gratitude,  which  she  could  not 
but  observe,  should  find  any  warmer  expres- 
sion than  his  calmest  moments  would  approve. 

She  arose  on  the  morning  of  .this  excursion 
strong  in  her  determination  and  full  of  joy. 
The  happiness  of  benefitting  others,  the  feeling 
that  she  was  in  some  dim  way  of  use  to  one 
who  had  given  much  to  her  both  from  the  in- 
spiration of  his  books  and  from  his  visible  pres- 
ence, this  made  the  light  of  every  day  more 
grateful  to  her  eyes.  To-day,  when  she  felt 
how  rich  were  her  possessions,  and  when  the 
instinct  came  with  the  strength  to  keep  them 
as  they  were,  if  possible,  untouched,  unstained 
forever,  what  wonder  she  appeared  beautiful  to 


48 


ASPHODEL, 


Russell  as  she  waved  them  good  speed  from 
the  balcony,  or  that  her  quiet  manner,  as  she 
moved  about  the  house  superintending  some 
new  domestic  arrangement  for  Alice,  contained 
a certain  happy  vigor  which  was  scarcely  na- 
tive to  her.  She  saw  and  did  not  forget  the 
kindness  of  her  friends,  which  had  been  testi- 
fied that  morning  in  Russell’s  look  of  disap- 
pointment and  in  Alice’s  tender  persuasions. 

The  day  had  already  melted  into  the  misty 
gold  of  afternoon  before  she  completed  her 
labors.  Then  she  lay  down  upon  a couch 
which  stood  across  the  recess  of  the  broad  li- 
brary window  and  watched  the  sea.  It  shone 
and  glimmered  under  the  broad  cedars,  which 
stood  like  sentinels  upon  the  garden’s  edge, 
gradually  burning  and  purpling  in  the  sunset 
rays.  And  while  she  lay-,  in  her  fatigue  she 
slept  and  dreamed. 

She  thought  she  was  lying  under  the  large 
cedar  close  to  the  verge  of  the  cliff,  and  Russell 


49 


AN  EXCURSION. 

was  by  her  side.  The. children  were  far  below, 
chasing  the  birds  upon  the  sand.  Presently 
Kussell-  said,  May  I play  to  you  ? ” and  seiz- 
ing a violin  he  played  until  they  seemed  to 
float  together  on  a golden  sea  of  music,  and  the 
violin  to  become  a boat,  wherein  they  lay  ris- 
ing and  sinking  to  the  harmony  of  the  waves. 
Suddenly  the  sea  dashed  with  a sharp  discord. 
She  awoke  to  find  the  breeze  had  swung  the 
half-opened  door,  heavily  back.  Then  she  arose 
and  shook  away  her  dream. 

The  gloom  and  white  mists  of  evening  were 
abroad,  when  the  sound  of  horses’  feet  told  of 
the  return  of  the  party.  Erminia  appeared 
to  bring  both  light  and  warmth  to  the  chilly 
group  as  she  ran  to  welcome  them,  and  throw- 
ing open  the  wide  hall-door  allowed  the  blaze 
of  the  bright  wood-fire  to  stream  into  the  dusk. 

After  the  brief  story  of  the  day  was  ended, 
and  they  had  finished  the  evening  meal,  they 
found  their  way  into  the  drawing-room  again, 

D 


3 


50 


ASPHODEL. 


where  no  one  was  inclined  to  talk,  and  Er- 
minia  fancied  the  silence  was  growing  irksome. 
Therefore  she  went  to  the  piano,  which  her 
late  occupations  had  prevented  her  from  touch- 
ing, and  played  softly,  almost  as  if  to  herself, 
yet  for  others  too  if  their  mood  chimed  with 
hers,  while  the  glimmer  of  the  half-risen  moon 
began  to  pervade  the  darkness  of  the  room. 
She  played  on  and  on,  until  the  absolute  quiet 
of  her  listeners  and  the  dreamful  absorption 
into  which  the  music  drew  her,  caused  the 
consciousness  of  their  presence  at  length  to 
pass  away,  and  she  seemed  again  to  float  on 
that  divine  sea  of  harmony  which  rocked  her 
in  her  dream.  Alice’s  lovd  for  music  would 
have  kept  her  spellbound  if  the  children  had 
not  required  her  presence,  and  caused  her  soon 
to  leave  the  room ; but  Russell  sat  still  as 
breathing  marble  in  the  broad  window,  watch- 
ing the  moon  as  she  slowly  arose  out  of  the 
sea  over  the  dim  horizon  and  laid  a bridge  of 
silvery  lustre  almost  to  his  feet. 


AN  EXCURSION. 


51 


Presently  Erminia  stopped,  and  her  low, 
sweet  Yoice,  compounded  of  all  gentleness,  be- 
gan a song  of  summer,  while  her  fingers  made 
the  instrument  speak  like  the  rippling  of 
streams  to  bear  her  company.  Again  she 
paused,  and  then  the  voice  — surging  as  if  a 
storm  of  passion  had  swept  across  its  gentle 
strength,  leaving  its  sad  vibrations  — arose 
once  more.  Eussell  listened,  for  this  strange, 
sad  tone  thrilled  him,  and  he  heard  these 
words : — 

0 tell  me  not  so  fair  a sun  may  shine, 

And  pour  his  living  beams  alone  on  me ; 

Full  well  I know  the  glory  is  divine, 

And  all  his  undimmed  path  the  world  can  see. 

Ye  happy  lovers  clad  in  ecstasy ! 

Sway  in  your  bliss  and  touch  the  speaking  heaven  ! 
Garner  joy's  ray  to  illume  life's  stormy  sky. 

Earth's  shadows  fall  even  where  her  love  is  given ! 

But  I shall  ever  gaze  upon  my  star. 

And  know  the  glorious  lustre  cannot  pale. 


62 


ASPHODEL. 


Through  present  dark  his  spirit  gleams  afar, 

Nor  passing  heavenward  can  such  beauty  fail. 

The  fountain  of  my  love  shall  feel  no  bars, 

But  ever  flowing  ever  be  at  rest ; 

Bor  what  am  I that  I should  clasp  the  stars,  ^ 

Or  think  their  rays  are  only  for  my  breast ! 

• 

Yet  I could  sigh  and  lean  my  weary  head, 

And  lose  all  self  upon  the  heart  of  love. 

And  loving,  live,  as  if  the  world  were  dead. 

And  every  voice  as  sweet  as  notes  above. 

Then  turn  away  from  me  thy  glowing  face ! 

My  heart  is  weak,  — this  frailty  is  of  earth ; 

No  longer  ^ould  I feel  that  tender  grace, 

Lest  I must  stifle  joy  in  his  young  birth. 

Alice  glided  noiselessly  back  into  the  room, 
while  Brminia  was  singing  these  verses.  Im- 
mediately to  her  clear  vision  their  meaning  was 
unfolded,  and  she  shot  one  anxious  glance 
towards  Russell.  The  song  was  ended  now, 
and  he  arose  and  came  to  the  piano.  As  he 


AN  EXCURSION. 


53 


approached  Erminia  and  spoke,  she  started. 
“ How  strangely  pathetic  that  song  is,’’  he  said 
gently,  and  almost  tenderly,  as  if  he  would 
make  amends  for  having  disturbed  her.  ‘‘  I 
think  I did  not  quite  comprehend  it.  Have 
you  the  words  there  ? I should  like  to  see 
them  and  to  know  the  writer’s  name.  Love 
and  suffering  find  expression  in  them,  and 
that  pain  of  lonely,  unrecognized  affection, 
perhaps  the  saddest  cry  the  voice  of  hu- 
manity can  raise ! Can  you  find  them  for 
me  ? ” 

“ No,”  said  Erminia,  speaking  very  low, 

they  are  not  written.  The  words  were  my 
own.  I did  not  think  them  altogether  sad,” 
and  she  turned  from  the  piano  as  she  spoke, 
vrith  a clear,  unclouded  smile,  which  seemed  to 
comprehend  him  in  its  sunlight  and  what 
might  lie  beyond. 

Eussell  saw,  as  he  had  never  seen  before,  the 
ineffable  tenderness  of  her  face,  — a face  that 


54 


ASPHODEL, 


knew  sorrow,  but  knew  the  eternal  power  of 
love,  and  he  became  humble  as  a little  child 
before  the  light  of  her  spirit.  He  answered 
her  in  a tone  > as  low  as  her  own,  and  which 
even  Alice  could  not  hear.  When  Erminia 
arose  a moment  after  to  close  the  instrument, 
he  said  more  audibly,  ‘‘  Will  you  teach  me 
something  of  your  wisdom?  I would  come 
to  you  daily,  as  the  children  do.’’  And  she 
answered,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  to  say 
good  night,  have  no  wisdom.  I believe 
my  sympathies  make  me  a child  with  the  chil- 
dren, but  I know  no  other.” 

That  is  what  I need  to  learn  most,  I think,” 
he  replied  earnestly.  “ There  is  a joy  too, 
deeper  than  the  joy  of  children,  which  can  out- 
live all  sorrow,  being  immortal.  Your  song, 
sad  as  it  is,  shows  me  that  you  know  what  1 
mean.  Teach  me  this  also,  Erminia,  through 
your  sympathy.” 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  away  abruptly,  and 


AN  EXCURSION. 


55 


left  her  standing  there.  She  listened  to  his 
feet  as  the  echoes  died  upon  the  stair,  and  then 
turned  lightly  and  passed  through  the  moonlit 
hall  to  her  own  room. 


V. 


COMMUNICATION. 

T^RMINIA  lay  down  upon  her  bed  that 
night,  happy,  but  sleepless.  She  allowed 
the  wide  window  to  invite  the  moonbeams, 
that,  lying  herself  in  shadow,  she  might  watch 
the  sea  and  sky.  Was  not  this  an  instinct  of 
her  life  to  lie  thus  in  shadow,  watching  and 
adoring  the  loveliness  and  glory  which  encir- 
cled her  ? To  her  wakeful  fancy  the  moon  be- 
came a living  type  of  human  purity,  and  the 
snowy  clouds  which  blossomed  in  her  path,  the 
lilies  of  the  heart  which  expand  in  answer  to 
the  touch  of  her  silver  rays,  the  messengers  of 
her  love.  ^^For  these  lilies  of  life,”  she  said, 
above  all  blessings,  I praise  thee,  0 God,  for 
now  their  fragrance  fills  my  heart.” 

And  Alice  in  her  lonely  chamber,  not  far 


COMMUNICA  TION, 


67 


away,  waited  long  for  the  benediction  of  the 
night.  Her  busy  thought  had  also  distanced 
the  idea  of  sleep,  and  she  sat  for  an  hour  by 
her  silent  window  while  desire  cried.  Peace! 
Peace  1 — But  there  was  no  peace.  Indeed, 
she  was  strangely  disturbed.  A fear  which  had 
vaguely  floated  in  the  atmosphere  appeared  at 
this  time  to  take  form,  and  her  mind  recoiled 
before  the  picture  it  presented.  She  could  not 
make  the  cause  sufficient  nor  altogether  clear ; 
but  the  dread  of  pain,  almost  the  dread  of  joy, 
for  one  so  tender  and  impassioned,  and  of  such 
lofty  aspect  as  her  friend,  this,  it  seemed,  she 
could  not  endure  alone.  “ Erminia  and  Rus- 
sell! ’’  she  said,  half  audibly.  ‘‘  Surely  he  does 
not  know  how  strong  his  influence  is ! He 
must  be  careful,  rigorous,  with  himself!  If 
Herbert  were  only  here,  he  could  speak  to  him 
and  all  would  be  well.  Ah,  Herbert ! if  you 
were  but  here ! ” And  Alice,  habitually  so 
controlled,  the  very  abode  of  serenities,  there 

A- 


3* 


58 


ASPHODEL, 


in  solitude  poured  her  sorrows  out,  and  the 
need  and  agony  of  her  heart  found  voice.  But 
at  length  she  was  enabled  to  turn  in  humility 
to  the  only  fountain  of  our  peace,  and  the 
loving  and  lonely  one  slept,  wrapped  as  it  were 
in  the  arms  of  faith. 

On  the  poet’s  study-table  a candle  burned 
till  long  past  midnight.  The  fatigues  of  the 
day  had  been  exorcised  by  Erminia’s  singing, 
and  when  he  entered  his  own  room  for  the 
night,  the  temptation  to  write  to  Herbert  was 
not  to  be  resisted.  His  dislike  of  letter-writing 
in  general  was  forgotten  for  the  time,  because 
he  wished  to  speak  with  his  friend.  Russell 
seldom  wrote  to  anybody  when  he  could  help 
it,  and  his  conscience  did  not  always  sleep  be- 
fore the  unanswered  letters  on  his  desk ; but 
to-night  his  pen  ran  lightly  forward,  as  if  to 
greet  the  heart  that  would  come  to  meet  it. 
At  last,  looking  for  a moment  off  the  page,  he 
saw  the  moon-rays  gleaming  on  a silver  dish 


COMMUNICA  TION, 


59 


filled  with  dahlias,  which  in  the  early  morn- 
ing Fanny  had  gathered  and  placed  upon  the 
casement ; thence  the  light  glimmered  down 
upon  the  floor  and  shone  upon  the  brazen 
clasps  and  illuminated  leaves  of  a disordered 
collection  of  precious  old  volumes  he  had  left 
astray  there.  They  seemed  to  rebuke  his  can- 
dle and  his  occupation.  He  put  the  light  has- 
tily out,  like  one  suddenly  discovered  in  an 
•unworthy  deed.  When  the  beams  expired  and 
the  weird  moonlight  brought  sudden  silence 
to  his  heart,  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  drown- 
ing celestial  music  in  dissonant  cries,  and  he 
advanced  toward  the  open  window  to  enjoy  the 
scene  in  its  perfection.  But  as  he  turned,  his 
glance  fell  upon  a favorite  portrait,  now  irradi- 
ated by  the  moon,  where  the  face,  although 
perfectly  familiar,  took  a vigor  of  expression 
from  the  white  light  which  startled  him. 

It  was  an  ancient  picture,  the  artist’s  likeness 
of  himself;  and  yet  no  flattery  of  comeliness 


60 


ASPHODEL. 


was  in  it,  but  a kind  of  strength,  like  a vision 
of  angelic  might,  as  if  the  painter  had  once  at- 
tained  the  summit  of  the  mountain  of  aspira- 
tion, and  stood  there  long ‘enough  to  recognize 
the  possibilities  of  his  being.  It  was  truthful 
too,  neither  hiding  the  signs  of  failure  nor  of 
pain.  In  the  young,  abundant  locks,  the  white 
threads  of  sorrow,  those  blossoms  of  the  eternal 
spring,  were  not  altogether  unseen.  Over  the 
pale  square  brow,  as  if  upheld  by  Grecian  pil- 
lars, through  the  fire  and  far-gazing  of  the  dark- 
brown  eyes,  and  in  the  firm  endeavor  of  the 
mouth,  not  untried  but  resolute,  Russell  read 
now  more  plainly  than  ever  before,  I will,  I 
dare,  I suffer,  — I am  strong  : for  yonder  lies 
my  strength.’’ 

Then  the  poet  replied,  as  in  a vision,  ‘‘  I will, 
I dare,  I suffer,  — would  that  I were  strong ! ” 
And  desire  rising  into  prayer  drew  a new 
peace  down  upon  his  being,  and  at  length  he 
too  slept  as  God’s  children  may.  Temptations, 


COMMUNICA  TION. 


61 


shrinking  but  not  conquered,  lurked  and  lin- 
gered. Only  endeavor -chained  to  aspiration 

* 

can  shame  the  Devil  back  to  his  grim  home. 

The  moonlight  became  pallid  in  the  dawn ; 
the  days  moved  round  to  nights.  Waning  and 
paling  to  the  sight  of  earth,  like  many  a joyless 
life,  the  moon  faded  and  died.  But  the  faith- 
ful stars  only  shone  the  brighter,  and  served  to 
guide  Herbert,  the  wanderer,  back.  He  had 
grown  restless  and  was  bound  towards  home. 
Was  it  the  call  of  that  strange  hour  of  a 
night  heavy  to  Alice  with  new  suffering,  which 
touched  him  where  he  slept  on  distant  seas, 
and  drew  him  to  his  own  ? 

The  autumn  sun  was  shining  with  undimin- 
ished splendor  one  October  afternoon,  when 
Herbert  returned  to  The  Cliff.”  He  entered 
the  house  unheralded,  and,  hastening  to  Alice’s 
room,  found  her  there,  as  he  had  scarcely  dared 
to  hope,  alone.  After  the  first  shock  of  sur- 


62 


ASPHODEL, 


prise  had  passed,  they  rehearsed  together  the 
long  hours  of  their  separation,  with  their  min- 
gled experiences. 

‘‘  I felt  myself  so  well  that  night,”  he  said  to 
her,  that  my  conscience  fairly  allowed  me  to 
think  of  home.  After  the  thought,  the  very 
breath  of  the  earliest  steamer  was  more  spicy 
and  healing  than  the  airs  of  the  Indian  Islands 
themselves.  But  what  of  Erminia  ? ” he  said, 
when  the  first  moments  were  past ; we  have 
not  spoken  of  her,  nor  of  Russell ; where  are 
they  both  this  fine  afternoon  ? ” 

^ Alice  seized  the  opportunity  which  this  ques- 
tion afforded  to  unfold  the  history  of  her  hopes 
and  fears : she  found  there  was  not  much  to  be 
told  after  all,  except  she  explained  her  anx- 
ieties, which  were  perhaps  unnecessary,  for 
Erminia. 

What  if  she  should  learn  to  love  Russell, 
while  he,  forgetful  of  all  but  Edith,  could  not 
see  that  his  gratitude  was  misinterpreted ! 


COMMUNICA  TION. 


63 


Dear  Herbert,  do  be  watchful  for  them  both, 
and  put  Russell  on  his  guard  if  it  be  pos- 
sible ! ’’ 

Don’t  be  too  anxious,  Alice.  It  is  fortunate 
I came  home  when  I did,  or  I might  have 
found  my  Mary  turned  into  a Martha  before 
my  very  eyes.” 

Alice  laughed  a little  childlike  laugh  over 
her  troubles,  which  seemed  to  disappear  before 
the  present  sunshine  as  marvellously  as  the 
Genii  of  the  Arabian  Nights  fade  in  their  mys- 
terious veil  of  vapor.  She  was  half  inclined  to 
believe,  with  Herbert,  that  her  fancies  were  but 
air. 

^^But  we  will  be  very  careful  and  observe 
them  both  well,”  she  said,  as  they  gave  their 
children  a good-night  kiss  in  the  nursery:  we 
are  but  children  of  few  more  years  and  little 
more  wisdom,  and  must  help  each  other.” 


VI. 


COMPANIONSHIP. 

“ I "^0  you  know  this  flower  ? ” asked  Eus- 
sell  that  same  afternoon,  as  he  suddenly 
emerged  from  what  Herbert  had  laughingly 
christened  “ The  Forest,”  a small  clump  of 
evergreen  trees  not  far  from  the  house,  and, 
stopping  Erminia  in  her  walk,  held  a spray  of 
purple  Gerardia  towards  her. 

“Yes,”  she  answered  quietly;  taking  the 
flower  he  extended  for  her  acceptance,  and 
fastening  it  in  her  dress,  “ I know  it  well,  but  I 
have  not  discovered  its  favorite  haunt  yet  near 
‘The  Cliir.’” 

“Let  me  show  you  where  it  grows.  I see 
you  are  out  for  a walk  this  glorious  afternoon.” 

“ Thank  you!  ” The  words  were  simple,  but 
her  heart  rose  with  a sudden  surge  of  happi- 
ness, as  if  in  answer. 


COMPANIONSHIP, 


65 


They  advanced  a moment  in  silencCj  until 
suddenly  the  shore  and  far  horizon  broke  upon 
their  view,  and  with  them  all  the  dread  and 
limitations  of  life  seemed  swept  away.  They 
ran  forward  swiftly  now,  towards  the  ocean, 
talking  like  two  children,  the  healthy  scene 
causing  them  to  forget  self-consciousness  and 
every  unnatural  restraint,  while  they  leaped 
from  point  to  point  upon  the  rocks,  clamber- 
ing down  to  the  very  edge  of  the  sea. 

Their  voices  chimed  in  natural  cadence  with 
the  birds  and  waves  as  they  called  to  one 
another  from  every  new  point  to  observe  a fill- 
ing sail  or  purple  fleck  thrown  by  the  flying 
clouds.  Above  them  towered  the  cliffs,  below 
and  afar  stretched  the  sea.  Presently,  from 
sheer  fatigue,  they  perched,  to  rest  awhile, 
in  a fissure  where  the  red  granite  was  still 
warm  from  the  midday  sun.  Looking  up- 
ward, the  rim  of  the  rocks  seemed  cutting 
the  blue  sky  above  them.  Erminia  thought 


66 


ASPHODEL. 


of  Egypt,  and  said : ‘‘  This  is  like  a vision  of 
Thebes.’’  As  she  spoke,  a short-billed  cnrlew 
shot,  with  a wild,  sharp  cry,  from  a cleft  vein 
not  far  from  where  they  sat,  and  floated 
away,  a speck  of  silver  into  the  blue. 

The  bird  is  jealous  of  your  speech,”  Rus- 
sell answered,  and  would  remind  us  that  this 
is  New  England,  our  home.” 

They  lingered  in  their  warm  shelter,  until, 
looking  towards  the  nearest  cove,  they  saw 
a fleet  of  boats,  resembling  a flock  of  birds, 
emerging  from  their  harbor.  The  fishermen 
were  starting  for  a night  at  sea,  each  man  in 
solitude  with  his  lantern  and  his  boat.  The 
tiny  skiffs  clung  together  as  long  as  compan- 
ionship was  possible  ; at  length  they  saw 
them  separate  to  seek  lonely  anchorage  on 
the  wide,  inhospitable  deep. 

^^We  will  not  go  for  Gerardias  to-night,” 
said  Russell,  breaking  the  long  silence  they  had 
kept  while  observing  the  boats,  “ it  is  time  we 


COMPANIONSHIP, 


67 


returned.  These  fishers  tell  me  it  is  later  than 
I thought ; but  the  sun  has  so  stained  the 
earth  with  lustre  that  his  yellow  rays  may 
still  serve  to  light  us  home.  We  call  these 
fishers  lonely/’  he  continued,  half  audibly,  as 
he  turned  to  go,  ‘‘  but  they  have  homes  in 
which  their  hearts  can  rest  even  while  they 
themselves  are  tossed  upon  the  sea ! ” He 
spoke  these  last  words  to  himself,  as  it  were, 
yet  they  were  hardly  uttered  when  he  feared^ 
lest  Erminia  might  have  heard  them.  She 
was  finding  her  way  lightly  over  the  some- 
what difficult  path,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  glowing  West.  Certainly  she  did  not  re- 
spond, yet  presently  she  rested  a moment  until 
her  companion  should  overtake  her,  and  ac- 
cepted the  hand  he  offered,  in  order  to  balance 
her  steps,  not  as  if  it  were  necessary  to  her,  but 
rather  as  a pledge  of  companionship  to  him. 

It  was  altogether  dark  when  they  reached 
the  house,  and  the  lights  from  the  broad  win- 


68 


ASPHODEL, 


dows  flung  their  welcome  beams  far  down 
towards  the  shore.  Herbert  was  lying  in  wait 
to  give  them  a merry  greeting,  had  not  their 
approach  been  so  quiet  as  almost  to  surprise 
him  instead. 

“ Come  in,”  he  shouted  heartily,  when  at 
last  they  appeared,  one  would  think  you  con- 
sidered yourselves  fit  subjects  for  a romance. 
I have  been  trying  to  repeat  the  old  proverb, 
^Better  late  than  never,’  but  it  grew  pretty 
musty  after  an  hour’s  thinking  of  it  from  time 
to  time.  Alice  has  gone  to  put  the  purple 
beacon  in  the  eastern  window,  fearing  you  had 
missed  your  way ; I must  tell  her  of  your 
arrival.”  And  having  called  to  Alice  and  told 
her  the  good  news,  he  drew  them  both  under 
the  hall  lamp  that  he  might  ^^take  proper 
diagnosis  of  their  cases,”  he  said,  and  judge 
of  Alice’s  good  keeping.” 

The  inspection  proved  remarkably  satisfac- 
tory. Erminia  stood  with  hat  off  and  the 


COMPANIONSHIP. 


69 


rolls  of  her  shining  hair  half  escaping  to  her 
shoulders,  with  cheeks  aglow  and  her  dark  eyes 
uttering  a gentle  remonstrance  against  being 
looked  at,  a picture  of  happiness  and  health ; 
while  Eussell,  forgetting  he  was  there  to  be 
gazed  at,  seemed  to  absorb  the  light  into  his 
dreamful  face  as  he  stood  between  his  friends. 

Herbert’s  quick  glance  did  not  fail  to  de- 
tect this  unwonted  and  beautiful  lack  of  self- 
consciousness  in  Russell.  Formerly  he  had 
sometimes  seen  him  in  this  mood,  when  for 
many  days  together  he  scarcely  quitted  his 
study,  never  wandering  farther  than  the  pine- 
trees  upon  which  the  room  opened,  and  un- 
interrupted, save  when  Edith  entered,  or  at 
evening,  when  he  himself  would  occasionally 
join  them  and  talk  over  days  passed  upon 
the  ^^Wengern,”  or  in  olive-circled  Perugia. 
Then  his  mind  was  pre-occupied  with  his  work ; 
but  his  ordinary  condition  was  quite  different. 
Sensitively  alive  to  the  presence  and  opinion 


70 


ASPHODEL. 


of  others,  conscious  of  superior  talent  and 
of  personal  beauty,  he  possessed  a certain 
measure  of  vanity,  which  rather  increased  than 
lessened  his  general  attractiveness,  and  seldom 
allowed  him  to  be  self-forgetful  in  the  world 
of  society.  Herbert  believed  in  his  friend’s 
genius  as  strongly  as  Russejl  himself,  and  liked 
to  observe  him  as  he  was  to-night,  held  by  a 
power  superior  to  his  intellections ; yet  he 
questioned  eagerly  what  that  power  might  be, 
because  with  the  thought,  the  suggestion  of 
Alice  returned  uneasily  to  his  mind. 

I will  let  you  both  go,”  he  continued  al- 
most immediately,  ^^when  you  have  told  me 
where  you  have  been  so  long.” 

“Why,  my  dear  fellow,”  said  Russell,  “the 
sunset  has  been  a pageant,  splendid  beyond 
our  imaginations,  — a scene  never  to  be  for- 
gotten,” and  while  he  endeavored  to  give  Her- 
bert some  idea  of  the  glory  of  it  from  the 
point  of  view  they  had  enjoyed,  Erminia 
slipped  away  to  prepare  for  the  evening  meal. 


VII. 


AFFINITIES. 

^ I "^HE  mysteries  of  affinity  overarch  our 
happiness  like  a blue  heaven.  The  ho- 
rizon expands  around  us,  and  the  vulgar  limi- 
tations of  the  day  resolve  and  mix  into  a 
speck  within  our  wide  eternity.  All  is  made 
ours.  There  is  no  reserve ; nothing,  however 
veiled,  that  shall  not  be  revealed  to  the  double 
sight  of  love. 

Russell  did  not  %ay  these  words  as  he  walke*d 
across  the  neutral-tinted  hills  in  the  warm  sun 
of  an  autumnal  noon.  The  thought  lay  only 
half-fledged,  as  it  were,  in  the  sacred  silence 
of  his  heart.  He  did  not  know  that  when  he 
spoke  he  listened  but  for  one  reply,  nor  that 
the  bleak  November  days  seemed  calm  as 
summer  because  he  walked  with  Erminia  over 
the  broad  and  glittering  fields. 


72 


ASPHODEL. 


The  days  and  weeks  had  thus  far  worn  away, 
and  a voice  of  winter  whispered  in  the  wind 
before  Herbert  could  gather  courage  to  tell 
Alice  that  a double  reason  prompted  his  re- 
turn ; and  the  hoar-frost  traced,  with  his  deli- 
cate white  pencil,  weird  and  vanishing  figures 
upon  Russell’s  balcony,  before  he  questioned 
himself  whether  he  loved  Erminia  and  would 
ask  her  to  be  his  wife,  or  if  he  must  leave 
the  hospitable  home  where  she  had  become 
essential,  perhaps,  to  his  happiness.  He  did 
not  believe  Erminia  loved  him  ! Why  should 
she?  She  knew  his  love  for  Edith,  — could 
ghe  understand  the  necessity  of  his  heart 
which  cried  out  for  while  his  angel  was 

forever  with  him  unforgotten?  Yet  he  was 

♦ 

thirsting  for  companionship,  for  fireside  cheer, 
for  her  calm  presence.  She  was  able  to  lead 
him  to  his  better  self;  and  when  at  remote 
intervals  they  had  passed  an  hour  together 
and  felt  a perfect  unison,  he  became  like  one 


AFFINITIES, 


73 


renewed  and  strengthened.  Her  image  lulled 
him  when  he  slept  and  stood  beaming  with  a 
lustre  worthy  of  Edith’s  love  when  he  awoke. 
It  would  be  a second  death  in  life  to  know 
he  must  lose  her  forever!  Yet  what  claim, 
what  hold  had  he  upon  her  ? How  frequently 
she  seemed  to  vanish  at  his  approach  I How 
slight  were  the  (^portunities  she  allowed  for 
any  speech!  But  each  held  little  Fanny  by 
the  hand,  and  day  by  day  the  unconscious 
child  strengthened  an  electric  bond  which 
Russell  could  not  break,  yet  dared  not  think 
indissoluble. 

I will  go  and  urge  her  to  it  with  all  the 
pent-up  passion  of  my  soul  poured  upon  hers ; 
yet,”  — and  the  man  became  irresolute  at 
the  thought,  — if  she  ^should  stand  with  her 
clear  face  and  shining  eyes,  saying,  ^ You  are 
Edith’s ! ’ — no ! no ! I cannot  ask  her  now. 
Time  must  help  me  win ; I will  wait  and  labor 
for  her  love.” 


4 


74 


ASPHODEL. 


The  autumn  sun  was  high  that  morning 
when  this  thought  of  Erminia  had  at  last 
taken  shape  in  his  mind.  Russell  was  already 
wearied  with  struggle  and  indecision,  although 
he  had  just  arisen.  The  early  morning  mail 
lay  as  usual  upon  the  table,  yet  he  left  it  un- 
examined until  he  was  fairly  ready  to  descend 
for  the  day.  Then  he  tore  the  envelopes 
open  carelessly  and  threw  the  letters  down 
half  unread,  except  one  which  he  perceived 
among  the  last,  from  the  shores  of  the  Pacific. 
This  was  evidently  of  importance,  and  he  read 
it  thoughtfully.  It  was  from  a man  who 
had  taken  the  trouble,  though  a stranger,  to 
inform  him  of  the  doubtful  trustworthiness 
of  the  agent  he  had  selected  to  superintend 
his  business  in  that  far  land,  and  the  letter 
urged  him  to  come  out  immediately,  to  judge 
of  the  state  of  affairs  for  himself.  What 
could  he  do  ? This  property  was  Fanny’s, 
left  her  by  her  mother,  and  must  be  guarded 


AFFINITIES. 


75 


more  carefully  than  if  it  were  his  own.  He 
stood  long,  revolving  the  subject  uneasily  in 
his  mind.  And  if  I must  go,”  he  said  to 
himself  finally,  must  go  in  silence.  At 
least,  when  I return,  if  ever,  there  can  be  no 
more  indecision.  We  shall  both  know  clearly 
then  what  is  essential  to  our  happiness.” 

Full  of  uneasy  questionings  he  descended 
slowly  towards  the  breakfast-room.  As  he 
crossed  the  hall,  Herbert  came  out  of  his  own 
room  hastily  and  met  him.  ‘‘  My  dear  lad,” 
he  said  in  his  healthy,  cheery  way,  always  like 
an  invigorating  breeze  to  Russell,  I see  we 
are  both  late  together  this  morning.  Of 
course  the  queen  bees  have  departed  long 
ago;  but  let  us  make  the  best  of  a bad  case 
and  have  a bachelor  breakfast  by  ourselves. 
Things  could  hardly  have  happened  more  con- 
veniently in  one  way,  however,  for  I have  a 
plan  which  I wish  to  consult  you  about,  and  we 
shall  not  find  a better  time  than  the  present.” 


76 


ASPHODEL. 


Eussell  was  only  too  happy  to  be  rid  of  his 
own  sad  cogitations  for  a while,  and  listened 
willingly  to  what  Herbert  had  to  say. 

As  soon  as  they  were  fairly  seated  at  the 
table,  he  said,  ‘‘  these  quiet  weeks  at  home, 
you  see,  have,  together  with  my  voyage,  set 
me  quite  on  my  legs  again.  I am  perfectly 
well  and  strong  now,  and  Alice  and  the  chil- 
dren could  hardly  be  more  comfortably  estab- 
lished, especially  while  you  are  with  them, 
than  they  are  at  present.  I am  convinced 
therefore  that  I ought,”  — here  he  hesitated. 

Why  you  seem  to  be  making  preparations 
for  getting  rid  of  yourself,  — out  with  it, 
Herbert,  let  us  have  the  worst  as  soon  as 
possible.” 

“ 0,  there ’s  no  ^ worst  ’ about  it,  I hope ; 
only,  to  tell  the  truth,  I feel  bound  to  join  the 
army.  I had  an  offer  of  a colonelcy  before 
I went  away  last  summer  for  my  health,  and 
I decided  then,  if  I recovered,  I would  do  what 


AFFINITIES. 


77 


I could,  when  I returned,  for  the  great  cause. 
I told  Alice  about  it  this  morning,  and  next 
to  telling  her  I believe  I dreaded  telling  you, 
Russell ; — but  her  behavior  made  everything 
that  should  be  done  look  easy.  You  know 
our  life  together  has  not  been  one  of  explana- 
tions, and  I really  think  she  was  prepared  for 
my  resolution,  and  felt  relieved  after  we  had 
talked  over  our  plans.  She  anticipated  this 
when  I first  went  away  from  home,  and  she 
feels  as  I do,  there  is  nothing  left  for  a true 
patriot  in  my  position  but  to  go.  Yet  the 
thought  of  our  speedy  separation  is  not  easy. 
I have  promised  to  leave  for  the  camp  two 
weeks  from  to-day.” 

There  was  a pause  after  Herbert  had  done 
speaking.  Then  Russell  sighed  heavily  and 
said,  Perhaps  I also  ought  to  have  done  as 
you  have,  Herbert,  but  I have  lived  too  much 
and  too  many  years  in  my  study  to  make  an 
efficient  soldier  in  the  camp,  or  perhaps  I try 


78 


ASPHODEL. 


to  think  so  when  I look  at  my  little  Fanny, 
who  would  be  utterly  lonely  without  me. 
Beside,  I hope  the  work  I have  accomplished 
at  home  is  not  without  its  value.  You  are 
only  to  be  congratulated  upon  your  heroic 
resolve ; the  resolution  alone  brings  you  the 
finest  laurels.  As  for  Alice,  I do  not  fear  for 
her.  I see  from  your  face  what  a glorious  sup- 
port she  has  been.  She  is  a woman  worthy 
to  live  in  this  great  spring-time  of  liberty! 
But  now,  Herbert,  I ought  in  turn  to  unfold 
the  plans  to  you  which  have  been  suggested 
by  my  letters  this  morning.  We  need  to  take 
counsel  together  to-day,  if  ever,  and  much 
more  since  your  unexpected  departure  is  so 
near  at  hand.  Certainly  I must  do  nothing 
which  can  interfere  with  your  determination.” 
And  with  a sudden  half-defined  hope  that 
Herbert  would  not  think  his  case  an  urgent 
one,  he  drew  the  letter  he  had  just  received 
from  his  pocket  and  laid  it  before  his  friend. 


AFFINITIES. 


79 


wish  you  would  read  it,”  he  continued, 
and  give  me  your  candid  opinion.” 

Herbert  took  the  letter  and  read  it  through 
in  silence.  Russell  watched  him  eagerly,  that 
he  might  not  lose  the  expression  of  one  spon- 
taneous feeling  its  perusal  should  awaken,  and 
he  did  not  fail  to  observe  a shadow  of  anxiety 
^ which  at  first  overspread  his  face.  But  his 
clear,  concise  reply,  true  as  Herbert  was,  gave 
him  satisfaction  with  the  pain.  The  demon 
of  indecision  was  exorcised. 

‘‘  I think  you  should  go  by  the  next  steamer, 
for  I see  no  real  reason  for  delay.  Perhaps 
in  this  way  you  may  avoid  the  bitter  cold  and 
storms  of  winter  on  our  coast.  We  shall 
leave  a lonely  household,  it  is  true,  very  lonely, 
but  I do  not  think  the  necessity  for  remaining 
sufficiently  strong  to  counterbalance  the  ne- 
cessity for  your  departure.  Justice  to  the 
interests  of  your  child  calls  for  your  immediate 
absence.  You  will  be  back  probably  before 


80 


ASPHODEL, 


midsummer  returns,”  he  added,  observing 
the  shadow  which  crept  over  Russell  at  the 
thought.  We  shall  count  upon  this.  Indeed 
you  can  hardly  be  detained  later  than  the 
early  spring,  unless  matters  are  far  worse 
than  we  believe.” 

Herbert  said  no  more,  waiting  for  a word 
of  response  from  Russell.  He  was  fully  aware 
that  some  feeling  beside  the  apparent  anx- 
ieties of  his  position  agitated  his  friend,  and 
he  lingered,  hoping  for  a word  of  question- 
ing or  confidence  with  regard  to  Erminia. 
He  had  become  at  last  entirely  convinced  of 
her  feeling  for  Russell,  and  he  could  not 
escape  something  of  Alice’s  disquietude,  when 
he  found  himself  the  agent,  as  it  were,  di- 
viding them  perhaps  forever.  Russell,  on  the 
other  hand,  sat  unconscious  of  his  friend’s 
thought,  listening  for  him  to  speak  again, 
hoping  for  one  word  which  might  keep  him 
from  this  fatal  voyage  and  give  him  time 


AFFINITIES, 


81 


to  follow  where  his  aspiration  led;  time  or 
opportunity  to  dare. 

They  sat  long  in  silence.  Then  Herbert 
suddenly  remembered  that  affairs  called  him, 
and  hastened  to  leave  the  room. 

Russell  felt  like  a doomed  man  when  he 
saw  Herbert  depart.  Hitherto  the  days  had 
slipped  away,  spurred  in  their  course  by  a 
fresh  unconscious  love  which  he  recognized 
now,  a joy  he  had  never  hoped  to  know  again. 
He  had  wrapped  himself  in  the  glory  of  his 
dream,  and  had  known  no  awakening  save  a 
disturbing  fear  which  the  reticence  of  Er- 
minia’s  manner  sometimes  caused  him  to  feel. 
Now  the  moment  was  come  when  he  must 
lose  herj  perhaps  forever.  The  future  was 
black  before  him  with  clouds  of  uncertainty, 
the  present  a living  torture.  If  he  were  only 
sure  of  her  regard  for  him;  if  the  perfect 
smile  he  had  seen  break  like  a morning  of 
love  upon  her  face,  when  in  some  happy  mo- 


82 


ASPHODEL, 


ment  they  had  talked  together  forgetful  of  re- 
straint,— if  that  were  his,  were  born  for  him, 
then  he  could  find  voice.  He  could  not  help 
observing  that  Erminia  avoided  him,  and 
hedged  herself  behind  her  marble  grace,  say- 
ing, as  it  were,  ^^If  Russell  would  come  to 
me  it  must  be  by  a path  of  his  own  creating. 
I am  not  like  Edith,  one  whom  the  world 
admires,  and  who  is  fitted  to  stand  by  his  side 
among  the  worshippers  who  seek  him.’’  Yet 
by  the  fireside,  and  in  the  quiet  ebb^nnd  flow 
of  their  daily  life  at  “ The  Cliff,”  Russell 
learned  instinctively  to  recognize  the  wealth 
of  her  simple  life,  and  Erminia  to  see  in  him 
a growing  distaste  for  the  allurements  of  so- 
ciety and  a longing  for  the  continued  shelter 
of  a home.  She  did  not  think  of  herself, 
however,  in  relation  to  him,  otherwise  than 
through  Fanny,  who  clung  to  her  as  if  parting 
were  a thing  impossible. 

^ Russell  saw  the  river  of  time  flowing  on. 


AFFINITIES. 


83 


and  he  knew  liis  departure  was  imminent.  It 
was  just  that  he,  and  not  another,  should  tell 
Erminia  of  his  journey.  “ Not  Herbert,  not 
Herbert,”  he  repeated  to  himself;  “I  must 
tell  her;  beside,  I must  entreat  her  still  to 
watch  over  Fanny,  — to  — to  be  a mother  to 
her.  I cannot  take  the  child  away.” 

In  the  struggle  between  his  dread  of  an 
interview  and  the  fear  of  delay,  the  morning 
of  that  day  slipped  by.  When  the  hour  of 
dinner  was  announced,  Russell  pleaded  occu- 
pation as  an  excuse  for  his  absence  from  the 
family  circle. 

He  had  returned  to  his  own  room  soon  after 
Herbert  quitted  him,  and  it  was  mid-afternoon 
before  he  again  left  it.  Believing  the  house 
to  be  solitary  as  usual  at  that  hour,  he  de- 
scended then,  and  crossed  the  library,  with 
the  intention  of  taking  a rapid  walk  by  the 
sea.  As  he  stepped  from  the  long  window 
opening  upon  the  piazza,  Erminia  stood  there, 


84 


ASPHODEL, 


with  her  back  toward  him,  where  she  had 
been  occupying  herself  since  dinner,  appar- 
ently tying  up  the  honeysuckle  which  the 
autumn  winds  had  displaced.  She  had  un- 
fastened the  body  of  the  vine  in  order  to 
arrange  it  more  perfectly,  and  had  thrown 
the  tangled  net  of  scarlet  berries  and  sphere- 
like purpled  leaves  over  her  shoulders  till 
they  swept  the  ground  behind  her.  The  sun 
was  glancing  upon  her  radiant  hair  and  spark- 
ling on  the  berries  and  the  leaves. 

Eussell  stood  still.  How  beautiful ! was  his 
first  thought;  and  his  second,  ^‘Yes,  I see  it 
all,  this  is  my  appointed  time ! ” 

He  spoke  to  her  'then,  and  she,  with  a child- 
like gladsomeness,  told  him  she  was  happy  to 
see  him  out  of  school  at  last,  and  feared  he 
had  a very  hard  master  to  keep  him  so  long ! 
But  observing  quickly  that  he  did  not  respond 
to  her  mood,  she  waited  quietly  and  continued 
her  work  until  he  should  reply. 


AFFINITIES, 


85 


‘‘  I wish  to  tell  you,”  he  began,  after  a pause 
during  which  Erminia  partly  disengaged  her- 
self from  the  vine,  ‘‘  that  I am  compelled  to 
go  away  from  ^The  Cliff,’  for  a long  time. 
Business  calls  me,  business  for  Fanny’s  sake ! 
And  I wish  to  leave  the  child  wholly  to  your 
care.” 

As  he  spoke  the  vine  slipped  away  from 
Erminia,  and  she  stood  motionless,  looking  far 
over  the  sea. 

I shall  be  gone  until  midsummer.  May  I 
leave  the  most  precious  treasure  I Jiave  on 
earth  with  you?  I must  indeed  travel  west- 
ward, but  I shall  be  ever  turning  to  the. east. 
I feel  myself  moored  here  where  my  child  is, 
and  — ” 

Ill-concealed  emotions  were  already  strug- 
gling in  Bussell’s  voice ; again  he  asked, 
abruptly,/^  May  I leave  her,  this  treasure,  to 
you,  Erminia?  May  I think  of  her,  for  my 
sake  enfolded  in  your  arms  ? ” 


86 


ASPHODEL. 


He  waited  eagerly  for  her  reply,  but  she 
stood  now  with  her  face  turned  quite  away 
from  him,  and  simply  said,  ‘‘  You  may ! ’’ 

How  lonely  the  shore  became  that  afternoon 
to  the  solitary  walker.  A creeping  mist 
shrouded  the  distance,  and  the  slow  roll  of 
the  perpetual  waves  upon  the  beach  was  like 
Nature’s  metronome  of  silence.  The  solitude 
of  death  rushed  upon  him.  The  wind,  playing 
over  the  pine-groves  as  its  harp,  whispered. 
Alone!  alone!”  and  the  ripples,  as  they 
curved  towards  his  steps,  answered  in  their  dim 
monotone.  All  was  sad  and  low  as  his  own 
heart,  wherein  there  was  no  hope.  Sadly  he 
paced  the  sands,  listening  only  to  the  chant  of 
his  worn  spirit.  Only  that ; no  light,  no  hope. 

But  when  at  length  the  shadows  grew  the 
deepest,  there  arose  a beacon  on  the  headland. 
It  stretched  its  glowing  fingers  out  towards 
him,  as  if  to  guide  the  wanderer  and  rekindle 
his  faint  hope. 


AFFINITIES. 


87 


To-morrow  passed,  and  still  to-morrow ; on 
the  fourth  day  Eussell  was  to  sail.  Alice  and 
Erminia  superintended  the  arrangements  for 
his  personal  comfort,  while  he  set  the  house 
of  his  affairs  in  order,  for  departure.  Herbert 
had  concluded  after  mature  deliberation  to 
close  the  establishment  and  leave  The  Cliff’’ 
until  summer  should  return,  and  had  been 
sufficiently  occupied  himself  in  finding  com- 
fortable lodgings  for  his  family  in  the  city. 
As  yet,  however,  there  was  no  sign  of  removal 
about  Alice’s  household.  All  was  as  usual, 
except  a calm,  like  the  calm  of  grief,  and  a 
sacred  stillness  seemed  to  pervade  the  place. 
When  Eussell  and  Herbert  were  at  home, 
however,  these  two  women,  radiant  with  their 
love  and  endeavor,  half  cheated  those  others 
into  forgetfulness  by  a courage  which  was 
sometimes  insufficient  for  themselves. 


VIII. 


SOLITUDE. 

TT  appeared  that  Alice’s  own  suffering  was 
merged  during  those  bitter  days  in  the 
unspoken  grief  of  Erminia,  for  whose  comfort 
she  felt  she  could  do  nothing.  Not  even 
Herbert  could  understand  her  friend  as  she 
could,  and  the  tears  sprang  to  Alice’s  eyes 
as  she  watched  that  marble  pallor  return,  at 
one  time  native  to  Erminia’s  face,  but  lately 
driven  away  by  the  rosy  dawn  of  happiness. 
None  but  Alice,  passing  late  into  her  bedroom, 
could  hear  the  heavy  sob  breaking  on  silence, 
and  none  but  she  knew  the  early  feet  which 
crossed  the  lawn  and  visited  the  shore,  hoping 
for  the  morning.  Nor  could  another  know 
that  the  coming  separation  had  revealed  a 
truth  hitherto  concealed  from  all,  even  from 


SOLITUDE. 


89 


herself.  Why  should  Alice  speak  of  these 
things,  and  to  whom  ? Herbert  needed  cheer, 
therefore  she  might  not  speak  even  to  him! 
Beside,  would  it  not  seem  like  betrayal  ? She 
murmured  only,  “ The  heart  knoweth  its  own 
bitterness,”  and  remained  silent. 

The  morning  of  Russell’s  departure  arrived. 
As  he  awoke,  his  first  thought  was,  Erminia 
and  Fanny  are  my  world,  and  to-day  I leave 
them  both,  without  the  courage  to  anticipate 
the  future.  If  Erminia  will  but  give  me  one 
ray  of  hope  before  we  part,  it  shall  be  my  hap- 
piness, my  beacon,  till  I return. 

0 dark  and  blind  1 Where  are  the  seeing 
eyes  to  perceive  your  child  wrapped  and  shel- 
tered in  almost  a mother’s  tenderness,  — to 
behold  the  joy  lighting  the  being  of  that 
woman  at  your  approach,  — to  interpret  the 
very  reticence  of  her  demeanor  when  you 
have  been  most  rash  ? Do  you  then  wait  for 
speech,  that  dull  and  partial  medium,  when 
you  feel  the  spirit  within  you  vibrate? 


90 


ASPHODEL. 


Eussell  heard  the  voice  and  longed  to  act 
upon  it,  but  the  hours  flew  by  and  left  him 
still  irresolute.  He  could  not  know  the  agony 
they  brought  to  her  who  was  called  self-sus- 
tained. In  his  after-life  there  came  a period 
when  he  knew  no  mortal  can  be  sustained  in 
loneliness  but  by  the  grace  of  God,  our  self- 
hood is  so  weak,  and  that  the  birth  from  suf- 
fering, through  grace,  is  peace. 

The  hour  of  departure  arrived.  The  little 
group  clustered  around  the  porch  to  bid  Rus- 
sell good  speed.  He  bade  farewell  to  each, 
and  took  Erminia’s  hand  the  last,  as  if  hop- 
ing till  the  latest  moment  for  a sign,  he  knew 
not  what.  But  when  he  lingered  for  a look, 
she  stooped  and  kissed  Fanny,  who  stood  be- 
tween them,  and  so  veiled  her  eyes".  Once 
more  he  pressed  her  cold  hand ; — at  length, 
when  she  raised  her  head,  Russell  was  gone. 

In  another  week  Herbert  also  took  his  de- 
parture ; going  proud  and  strong,  with  a noble 


SOLITUDE. 


91 


soldier’s  bearing.  Then  the  women  and  chil- 
dren were  left  alone. 

For  the  first  time  Erminia  knew  the  shadowy 
wood  through  which  the  feet  of  the  solitary 
may  pass.  It  was  not  a solitude  like  that 
which  followed  her  father’s  death,  when  every 
moment  was  peopled  with  the  sweet  memories 
of  his  life,  nor  that  solitude  of  the  child  which 
is  “ the  power  of  God,  and  the  mystery  of 
God ; the  echo  of  a far  deeper  solitude  through 
which  he  has  already  passed,  and  of  another 
solitude,  deeper  still,  through  which  he  has 
to  pass ; reflex  of  one  solitude,  — prefiguration 
of  another.”  The  way  was  dark  and  she 
walked  gropingly.  She  seemed  to  be  passing 
over  a lofty,  uncertain  bridge,  with  a gulf  of 
blackness  reaching  down  infinitely  on  either 
hand,  and  there  was  none  to  help.  And  a 
voice  said.  This  is  the  prefigured  time,  the 
true  death. 

Erminia  often  said  to  herself  that  she  ex- 


92 


ASPHODEL. 


pected  nothing  from  Russell;  that  he  owed 
her  nothing ; on  the  contrary,  she  had  de- 
rived much  from  him.  She  only  remembered 
he  was  her  ideal,  no  other  was  so  lofty  in  her 
eyes ; his  presence  was  her  life,  his  absence,  — 
vacuity,  solitude.  He  had  often  spoken  kindly 
to  her ; why  did  he  not  say  one  word  at  least 
before  departure  ? Why  did  he  leave  her  in 
silence  now,  if  his  previous  speech  and  manner 
signified  anything?  Could  the  sun  be  false 
in  his  course?  Yet  why ‘did  he  leave  her 
without  one  regretful  word  ! Surely  it  would 
not  have  been  unmanly  to  express  his  feeling ! 

One  afternoon,  as  these  turbulent  thoughts 
rose  and  surged  within  her,  and  the  tempest 
would  not  be  allayed,  a hand  tapped  at  her 
door,  and  she  heard  a merry  voice  say,  “ Where 
is  my  pet  ? Here,  — all  alone,  — may  I come 
in?”  and  Fanny,  half  peeping  as  she  spoke, 
sprang  into  Erminia’s  little  room^  looking  out 
on  brick  walls,  and  nestled  up  into  her  lap. 


SOLITUDE, 


93 


“ You  are  cold  here,  and  must  come  with 
me,  my  darling,”  she  said,  with  a protecting 
air,  as  if  she  felt  herself  the  guardian. 

Then  Erminia  wrapped  the  child  in  her 
wide  opened  arms,  and  dropping  one  hot  tear 
upon  the  bright  curls,  knew  she 

« Touched  God^s  right  hand  in  that  darkness.” 

It  was  strange  for  Alice  to  find  herself  liv- 
ing once  more  in  town.  Years  had  passed 
since  she  had  known  much  of  people  or  their 
habitations  outside  of  her  own  family  and  her 
humble  village  friends ; and  when  the  inevita- 
ble bustle  of  removal  was  completed,  the  days 
stretched  blankly  before  her,  holding  anxiety 
out  as  her  dull  companion.  Soon,  however, 
Herbert’s  letters,  punctual  as  the  morning, 
began  to  arrive,  and  they  enabled  her  to  live 
much  in  camp  with  him,  while  Ernest  and 
Ally  demanded  also  a large  share  of  her  at- 
tention. She  must  now  keep  double  watch- 


94 


ASPHODEL. 


fulness  over  them,  — must  learn,  suffer,  and 
enjoy  with  them.  She  discovered  that  she 
must  live  with  her  children  as  well  as  for 
them,  and  love  and  pray,  aspiring  to  be  one 
with  them  in  childlike  earnestness. 

How  shall  we  repeat  the  story,  told  in  Her- 
bert’s daily  letters,  of  his  life  in  camp, — of  its 
thronging  occupations,  its  wild  excitement,  its 
vast  solitude  ? All  these  elements  made  up 
the  stirring  history,  — one  that  many  of  us 
know  by  heart.  Why  should  I recount  it 
here,  rehearsing  in  cold  words  an  experience, 
at  the  memory  of  which  we  hold  our  breath  ? 
Let  me  insert  instead  some  verses  written  by 
a friend  of  Herbert,  a Colonel  like  himself, 
which  possess  the  merit  of  haying  been  writ- 
ten on  the  spot,  in  the  speaking  silence  of  the 
night. 

**  Tramp ! tramp  ! tramp  ! tramp  ! 

As  I lay  with  my  blanket  on,  / 

By  the  dim  fire-light,  in  the  moonlit  night. 
When  the  skirmishing  fight  was  done. 


SOLITUDE, 


95 


$ 

*«The  measured  beat  of  the  sentiy^s  feet, 

With  the  jingling  scabbard's  ring ! 

Tramp ! tramp  ! in  my  meadow-camp, 

By  the  Shenandoah's  spring. 

* eie  * 

“ Tramp  ! tramp  ! tramp  ! tramp  ! 

The  sentry,  before  my  tent. 

Guards,  in  gloom,  his  chief,  for  whom 
Its  shelter  to-night  is  lent. 

‘‘I  am  not  there.  On  the  hillside  bare 
I think  of  the  ghost  within ; 

Of  the  brave  who  died  at  my  sword-hand  side. 
To-day,  'mid  the  terrible  din 

Of  shot  and  'shell  and  the  infantry  yell. 

As  we  charged  with  the  sabre  drawn. 

To  my  heart  I said,  ‘Who  shall  be  as  the  dead 
In  my  tent  at  another  dawni' 

“ I thought  of  a blossoming  almond-tree. 

The  stateliest  tree  that  I know; 

Of  a golden  bowl ; of  a parted  soul ; 

And  a lamp  that  is  burning  low. 

“ 0 thoughts  that  kill ! I thought  of  the  hill 
In  the  far-off  Jura  chain: 

Of  the  two,  the  three,  o'er  the  wide  salt  sea. 
Whose  hearts  would  break  with  pain ! 

« ^ ^ ^ ^ 


96 


ASPHODEL. 


^ Halt ! Who  comes  there  ? * The  cold  midnight  air 
And  the  challenging  word  chill  me  through; 

The  ghost  of  a fear  whispers  close  to  my  ear, 

< Is  peril,  love,  coming  to  you  ? * 

<<  The  hoarse  answer,  ‘ Relief,'  makes  the  shade  of  a grief 
Die  away  with  the  step  on  the  sod. 

A kiss  melts  in  air,  while  a tear  and  a prayer 
Confide  my  beloved  to  God ! 

« Tramp ! tramp  ! tramp  ! tramp  ! 

With  a solemn,  pendulum  swing ! 

Though  I slumber  all  night,  the  fire  burns  bright. 

And  my  sentinels'  scabbards  ring. 

^ Boot  and  saddle ! ' is  sounding.  Our  pulses  are  bounding ; 
* To  horse  ! ' And  I touch  with  my  heel 
Black  Gray  in  the  fianks,  and  ride  down  the  ranks 
With  my  heart,  like  my  sabre,  of  steel." 

Russell’s  experience  during  these  days  of 
winter  must  not  pass  unmentioned.  The 
gloom  pf  parting  seemed  to  be  pictured  on 
the  face  of  Nature  as  he  left  the  hospitable 
doors  where  the  flowers  of  life  had  blossomed 
again  even  for  him.  The  sleet  and  snow  pat- 


SOLITUDE, 


97 


tered  against  the  narrow  windows  of  the  car- 
riage, leaving  small  out-look  except  upon  the 
black  miry  footprints  around  the  stations  as 
they  passed.  At  length  night  shut  down ; 
and,  utterly  wearied  with  the  excitement  of 
the  last  few  days,  his  brain  confused  by  the 
jolting  of  the  cars,  he  fell  into  a dead- 
ened condition,  when  his  perceptions  became 
inert,  yet  the  restful  obliviousness  of  sleep 
was  absent.  He  did  not  fairly  revive  until 
he  found  himself  the  next  morning  actually 
standing  on  the  pier  and  waiting  to  approach 
the  steamer  whither  he  was  bound.  Then 
the  feel  of  the  salt  sea  refreshed  his  senses. 
He  saw  the  blue  just  breaking  over  the  sky 
and  scattering  the  morning  mist,  the  harbor 
gay  with  white-winged  boats,  the  pier  crowded 
with  hurrying  men,  anxious  women,  and  wide- 
eyed  children,  with  luggage  and  dogs  in  pro- 
portion. A parrot  was  screeching  in  a cage 
at  his  right  hand,  an  infant  nursing  at  his 


98 


ASPHODEL, 


left ; in  front  he  sa,w  a vivid  panorama  of  the 
bay,  with  its  hospitals,  islands,  villas,  and 
light-houses ; while  in  the  far  distance,  blue 
as  the  wing  of  a Brazilian  butterfly,  stretched 
the  broad  ocean.  But  he  moved  hastily  for- 
ward to  his  destination  now,  hardly  knowing 
that  he  observed  these  things.  The  steamer 
was  already  crowded,  and  his  own  state-room, 
engaged  many  weeks  previously,  he  found  in 
the  possession  of  a lady  and  her  daughter. 
What  should  he  do  ? He  went  to  the  cap- 
tain ; but  the  poor  man,  already  half-crazed 
with  the  number  of  like  complaints,  said  he 
knew  nothing  about  it,  and  could  do  nothing 
if  he  did.  ‘‘  More  people  want  to  -go  than 
there ’s  room  for,  and  they  ’ll  have  to  settle 
it  among  themselves.”  This  answer,  half  to 
himself  and  half  to  Bussell,  was  all  the  satis- 
faction he  could  get.  It  certainly  was  not  an 
encouraging  beginning.  He  returned  there- 
fore to  the  cabin,  and  there  sat  the  same  lady 


SOLITUDE. 


99 


whom  he  had  seen  in  his  state-room.  He  ac- 
costed her,  after  a moment’s  deliberation,  and 
asked  if  unmber  twenty-two  were  her  state- 
room. 

‘‘  Yes,  it  is,”  she  replied,  evidently  a little 
surprised  at  the  question. 

“ Excuse  me,”  said  Russell,  but  it  is  the 
same  one  which  was  assigned  to  me  three 
weeks  ago,  and  I must  endeavor  to  investi- 
gate the  matter.” 

The  lady  looked  perplexed.  If  you  will 
wait  a few  moments,”  she  said,  finally,  “ until 
Mr.  Van  Ranse  returns,  I am  sure  he  will  be 
happy  to  do  what  he  can  to  assist  you.” 

Russbll  waited,  but  finding  the  gentleman 
in  question  did  not  return,  he  determined 
once  more  to  try  his  fortune.  He  first  com- 
pared again  the  number^upon  his  key  with 
that  upon  the  door  of  the  pre-occupied  state- 
room, and  finding  they  accorded  only  too  well, 
he  was  about  to  seek  the  proper  authorities 


X 


100  ASPHODEL. 

for  redress,  if  possible,  when  Mrs.  Van  Ranse 
again  appeared. 

‘‘  I would  not  keep  the  apartment,’’  she 
said,  since  your  application  was  made  much 
earlier  than  ours,  except  for  my  daughter 
Amy,  who  is  rather  delicate,  and  not  a good 
sailor  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances. 
I fear  there  is  culpable  carelessness  on  the 
part  of  the  officials,  which  has  been  too  com- 
monly the  case  upon  this  line.  We  only  ap- 
plied for  a passage  five  days  ago,  intending 
to  have  taken  the  next  steamer,  had  not  our 
affairs  demanded  the  presence  of  Mr.  Van 
Ranse  as  soon  as  possible ; and  we  were  some- 
what surprised  at  our  good  success,  which  I 
discover,  too  late,  is  at  the  expense  of  your 
comfort.” 

Russell  bowed  his  acknowledgments  for  her 
politeness,  and  said  he  would  make  one  more 
effort  to  have  the  matter  cleared  up.  He 
would  not  disturb  the  ladies,  however,  on  any 


SOLITUDE. 


101 


account,  as  he  could  learn  to  be  quite  com- 
fortable anywhere.  Yet  he  felt,  as  he  turned 
away,  that  the  last  alleviation  of  this  intoler- 
able voyage  was  gone  when  he  had  lost  the 
possibility  of  retirement,  which  his  comfort- 
able state-room  would  have  secured  to  him. 

The  inconvenience  to  which  Mr.  Van  Eanse 
had  thus  unwittingly  subjected  a gentleman, 
and  especially  Eussell,  for  whom  it  appeared 
he  held  an  enthusiastic  admiration,  being  a 
devoted  reader  of  his  books,  caused  him  to 
make  every  possible  reparation  in  his  power. 
The  daily  attentions  extended  to  him  by  the 
family  proved  the  high  esteem  in  which  he 
was  held.  No  kindness  was  omitted  which 
might  in  any  way  lessen  the  discomfort  of 
the  journey. 

Fortunately  the  weather,  although  cold,  was 
often  clear  and  invigorating.  It  was  in  the 
afternoon  of  one  of  those  favorable  days  shortly 
after  their  departure  that  Eussell  found  him- 


102 


ASPHODEL. 


self  seated  upon  the  deck,  somewhat  apart, 
holding  a book  as  a kind  of  fence  against 
intruders,  which  he  had  suffered  nevertheless 
to  drop  from  his  hand,  while  his  whole  senses 
became  absorbed  in  watching  the  monotonous 
rise  and  fall  of  the  wide  sea-plain.  He  was 
suddenly  aroused  from  his  aimless  dream  by 
the  approach  of  pattering  footsteps  from  be- 
hind. He  turned  quickly.  It  was  Amy  Van 
Ranse. 

Don’t  you  need  a walk  ? ” she  said,  with 
a mixture  of  shyness  and  coquetry.  am 
sure  it  would  be  good  for  your  health,  and  I 
have  tired  papa  out.” 

Russell  obeyed  her  command  gracefully ; 
indeed,  it  would  have  required  a person  of 
far  less  natural  politeness  than  himself  ever  to 
say  ^^No”  to  the  appeals  of  this  pretty  child- 
woman.  Beside,  it  was  refreshing  to  walk 
with  any  one  who  possessed  such  elasticity. 
Her  trim  little  figure,  enclosed  in  a thick 


SOLITUDE, 


103 


sack-coat  of  comfortable  Quaker  hue,  with  a 
dress  of  slightly  deeper  tint,  just  caught  up 
sufficiently  to  reveal  the  hem  of  her  bright 
petticoat,  and  nice  feet  in  their  strong,  trim- 
laced  walking-boots,  seemed,  under  the  new 
excitement  of  sea-life,  to  possess  inexhaustible 
vigor.  There  was  something  about  her,  Rus- 
sell thought,  which  resembled  Erminia.  She 
was  as  unlike  as  it  was  possible  to  conceive, 
and  at  first  he  could  not  discover  where  the 
charm  lay.  But  that  afternoon,  as  the  sun  fell 
upon  her  hair,  where  the  small  brown  hat  al- 
lowed it  to  be  seen,  he  found  it  possessed  the 
same  golden  hue  as  that  other  hair,  to  re- 
member which  was  more  to  him  now  than  any- 
thing the  present  could  bestow,  and  which  he 
loved  to  have  suggested  to  his  memory  in  this 
way,  although  Amy’s  locks  were  far  less  plente- 
ous and  beautiful  than  Erminia’s.  They  were 
more  like  herself,  a little  crisp  and  unruly, 
yet  very  pretty  too  in  their  way.  And  the  eyes, 


104 


ASPHODEL. 


— was  there  not  something  in  them,  too,  like 
Erminia’s  ? To  be  sure  they  were  not  brown, 
like  her^ ! They  were  sometimes  light  gray ; 
but  just  now,  as  he  was  thinking  of  them, 
they  had  caught,  as  he  fancied,  the  blue  sea 
color,  deep  and  full.  Yes,  that  was  it ; they 
seemed  to  fill  with  light  to  their  very  depths, 
as  Erminia’s  did  when  she  was  earnest.  And 
Amy,  for  a wonder,  was  talking  earnestly  then. 
He  had  discovered  she  could  do  that  at  times, 
when  he  led  her  on ; but  he  must  do  it  care- 
fully. She  would  take  fright  at  the  faintest 
tinge  of  satire,  and  would  start  into  such  a 
broad  career  of  nonsense  as  to  preclude  all 
possibility  of  further  advance.  That  afternoon 
nothing  came  to  disturb  her  mood, — she  was 
talking  of  the  home  they  had  left  behind. 

“ It  was  hard  work  to  make  up  our  minds 
to  come.  In  the  first  place,  you  see,  we  had 
to  leave  otir  friends,  and  then,”  with  an  arch 
look,  “ some  people  wlp  cared  very  much 


SOLITUDE. 


105 


about  us,  whom  it  was  n’t  so  easy  to  get 
away  from”;  — and  Amy  blushed  a trifle  at 
this,  intimating,  as  it  were.  Those  were  my 
lovers,  you  know ; and  perhaps  you  may  as 
well  know  it,  too ; it  does  n’t  hurt  me  at  all, 
and  there  ’s  no  reason  why  the  whole  story 
should  n’t  come  out,  especially  to  you,  who 
would  never  speak,  or  perhaps  never  think 
of  it  again ! 

‘‘  Then  there  was  my  piano,  which  stood 
in  a lovely  room  for  music,  — an  apartment 
papa  had  arranged  on  purpose.  Of  course 
we ’ve  brought  the  piano  with  us,  but  — we 
could  n’t  bring  the  room  exactly  ! And  then 
the  conservatory,  and  ” — beginning  to  look 
very  serious,  — I won’t  think  of  it  a mo- 
ment longer,  or  I shall  be  miserable ! ” 

“ I wish  you  would,”  said  Eussell ; ‘‘  not 
that  I like  you  to  be  miserable,  but  it  is 
pleasant  to  hear  of  such  a delightful  home.” 

Ah,  yes ! but  I did  not  think  you  were 


5* 


106 


ASPHODEL, 


cruel.  Do  you  forget  Dante’s  Hell  has  few 
worse  pangs 

‘Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  felice 
Nella  miseria'?  '' 

Eussell  was  fairly  surprised,  both  by  the 
depth  of  feeling  Amy  revealed  to  him  in  spite 
of  herself  as  she  said  these  words,  and  the 
perfect  knowledge  of  Italian  her  pronuncia- 
tion evinced.  What  a weird  little  sprite  she 
was,  to  be  sure ! 

“ Do  you  know,”  said  Russell,  in  a tone 

which  hujig  on  the  narrow,  inexplicable  verge 

between  truth  and  joking,  “ that  my  doctrine 
/ 

is,  we  sound  the  deeps  of  Hell  in  this  world ! 
Perhaps,”  he  added,  presently,  as  if  half  mus- 
ing, and  with  an  uncontrollable  touch  of  sad- 
ness, “ perhaps  we  scale  the  heights  of  Heaven 
also.” 

“ But,”  said  Amy,  “ I am  sure  it  is  n’t 
Heaven  at  aU  if  you  don’t  know  it.  There 
was  I skimming  off  the  thickest  cream  of  life. 


SOLITUDE. 


107 


and  lapping  it  np  with  about  as  much  grati- 
tude as  a kitten,  and  never  discovering  where 
I had  been  till  I found  myself,  ^Nella  mise- 
ria.’  ’’ 

She  said  this  with  such  a half-mournful, 
half-comic  expression,  that  Russell  could  not 
help  laughing. 

‘‘  Poor  kitten ! how  miserable  you  do  look 
this  glorious  afternoon ! With  nothing  on  the 
planet  to  enjoy  but  capital  health,  a grand 
sea  view,  inspiring  air,  and  a companion, — 
h— m!” 

“ Who  seems  to  have  no  pity  for  the  suf- 
ferings of  others ! ’’ 

“ People  who  lose  their  temper  at  once  be- 
come unjust,”  Russell  answered.  It  delighted 
him  to  watch  the  pretty,  tempestuous  little 
face  while  he  teased  her.  I only  wished  to 
discover  the  depth  of  your  sorrow,  that  I 
might  learn  how  to  sympathize  with  it  truly, 
you  must  remember.” 


108 


ASPHODEL. 


^^0  — oh  ! said  Amy  ; and  then,  as  if 
the  most  opportune  interruption  possible  had 
come  to  a talk  she  was  determined  not  to 
prolong,  she  looked  seaward  a moment  in- 
tently, and  exclaimed,  Dolphins ! don’t  you 
see  dolphins  ? ” 

Dolphins,”  said  Russell,  derisively  ; they 
are  nothing  but  porpoises.” 

“ No  matter,  I want  to  see  them,”  she  an- 
swered ; “ please  give  me  your  hand,”  and 
in  a moment  she  had  sprung  upon  the  deck 
railing,  and  from  thence  into  the  life-boat, 
which  was  fastened  high  up  where  she  could 
get  a better  view.  There  she  sat  quiet,  and 
apparently  content  for  a moment,  and  then 
turned  round  and  smiled  at  her  companion, 
as  if  she  would  say,  ^^We  are  still  very  good 
friends,  but  I won’t  be  teased.” 

He  was  piqued.  The  touch  of  true  feeling 
she  had  revealed  made  him  ready  to  know 
more  of  this  strange  little  creature,  but  she 


SOLITUDE. 


109 


was  as  difficult  to  seize  as  the  will-o’-the- 
wisp. 

“ Amy,”  said  Mr.  Van  Eanse,  who  appeared 
on  deck  at  this  juncture,  ‘‘  Amy,  what  are 
you  doing  up  there?” 

^^Only  watching  porpoises,  papa;  your  friend 
down  there  helped  me  up.” 

The  last  words  made  it  impossible  for  her 
father  to  administer  the  reprimand  he  had  in 
his  heart.  As  for  Russell,  he  was  vexed  really 
at  last.  He  would  almost  as  soon  have  helped 
her  to  leap  overboard,  if  he  could  have  known 
what  she  was  about  to  do. 

There  she  sat,  however,  undisturbed,  and 
watched  the  sunset,  while  her  father  and 
Russell  paced  the  deck  and  talked  together. 
But  she  also  watched  her  chance  adroitly, 
and  once,  when  they  were  at  the  farther  end 
of  their  beat,  slipped  down  from  her  eyrie 
and  ran  away  to  find  her  mother. 

“ Amy,”  said  Mr.  Van  Ranse,  as  it  became 


110 


ASPHODEL. 


dark.  “ Amy,”  he  called,  finding  she  did  not 
respond,  “ I wish  you  would  come  down  now.” 
But  hearing  neither  movement  nor  answer, 
he  clambered  up  into  the  boat,  and,  not  find- 
ing his  daughter  there,  he  became  seriously 
alarmed. 

‘‘  She  is  not  here ! ” he  cried  hoarsely  to 
Russell,  who  answered  quickly, — 

“ If  you  will  continue  your  search  about  the 
deck,  I will  step  below.  She  may  have  gone 
down  when  we  were  not  observing  her.” 

He  flew  to  the  cabin.  There  sat  Mrs.  Van 
Ranse,  reading,  with  Amy  coiled  up  fast  asleep 
on  the  seat  beside  her.  Before  he  could  say, 
“ Thank  God,  she  is  safe ! ” Mr.  Van  Ranse 
had  followed  him,  and  Amy  was  opening  her 
eyes,  ready  to  laugh  over  the  excitement  she 
had  occasioned.  When  she  saw  the  trouble 
in  her  father’s  face,  however,  she  turned  to 
him,  put  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  kissed 
him  with  deep  and  penitent  affection  such  as 


SOLITUDE. 


Ill 


words  are  powerless  to  express;  and  Russell 
felt  the  involuntary  tears  rise  to  his  eyes  at 
the  sight.  He  quietly  withdrew  from  the 
cabin,  feeling  he  was  no  longer  necessary, 
and  left  them  alone  together,  while  he  re- 
turned to  the  deserted  deck  to  watch  with 
the  stars. 

-Se  recalled  the  last  vigil  he  had  kept.  It 
was  after  Erminia’s  singing  : when  he  was 
stung  by  a hope  too  nearly  like  despair,  yet 
laden  with  a sacred  fruit.  It  told  him  he 
could  love  again;  and  when  he  slept  at  last, 
with  the  peace  of  that  thought  in  his  heart, 
Erminia  came  and  seemed  to  beckon  him 
into  her  sweet  presence.  Then  indeed-*  he 
awoke  as  now,  to  find  himself  alone,  fearing 
to  advance ; but  to-day  the  pain,  the  long- 
ing found  no  relief,  until,  as  the  morning  of 
consolation  ever  awakes  from  the  night  of  sor- 
row, a light  came,  when  the  new  dawn  arose. 

He  determined  to  send  to  Erminia  from  the 


112 


ASPHODEL. 


first  port  a ring  lie  wore,  as  a silent  expression 
of  what  he  knew  not  how  to  say.  She  seemed 
so  proud,  so  impenetrably  hedged  around  by 
barriers  she  chose  to  raise,  that  he  could  not 
discover  her  feeling  towards  him.  Poor  Er- 
minia ! The  pathos  of  her  words  he  did  not 
indeed  comprehend.  And  when  she  sang, — 

X 

The  fountain  of  my  love  shall  feel  no  bars, 

But  ever  flowing  ever  be  at  rest; 

For  what  am  I that  I should  clasp  the  stars, 

Or  think  their  rays  are  only  for  my  breast! 

who  shall  say  that  she  comprehended  herself, 
or  the  need,  the  hunger  of  her  life ! 

At*  length  the  days  and  the  nights  were 
numbered,  and  the  stately  ship  rocked  on  the 
Western  sea.  Then  the  weary  voyagers  were 
bathed  in  winds  of  summer,  and  the  ocean 
became  as  glass,  and  the  sunset  became  as 
rubies,  and  the  mountains  shone  like  pearl. 
They  entered  at  last,  by  the  Golden  Gate,  and 
Russell’s  ring  had  gone  to  Erminia. 


SOLITUDE. 


113 


Amy  professed  no  talent  for  solitude.  She 
did  not  like  to  be  alone.  Hers  was  a sweet, 
clinging  presence,  always  ready  with  a laugh 
or  a tear  for  her  neighbor,  and  being  apart 
by  herself  was  her  first  idea  of  unhappiness. 
Therefore  she  considered  it  her  responsibility 
‘‘  to  take  care  ’’  of  her  numerous  fellow-pas- 
sengers, and  of  her  ^^papa  and  mamma  and 
their  friend”  in  particular;  ^Hhe  care,”  as  she 
phrased  it,  consisting  in  the  exercise  of  her 
simple  childlike  arts  of  beguilement.  It  was 
impossible  to  be  annoyed  by  her,  or  ever  to 
consider  her  arrival  an  interruption.  Russell 
began  to  depend  upon  her  gay  presence  before 
the  voyage  was  ended.  When  his  head  ach-ed 
she  would  induce  him  to  lie  upon  the  deck, 
saying  she  would  bring  him  all  he  needed, 
which  often  proved  to  be  innumerable  dain- 
ties he  did  not  need.  When  it  stormed  she 
insisted  upon  a jolly  time,”  as  she  said, 
in  the  cabin.  In  short,  except  that  one 


114 


ASPHODEL. 


night  of  watching,  Russell  experienced  little 
of  the  isolation  to  which  he  had  left  others. 
Now,  however,  the  day  of  arrival  was  at  hand. 
Mr.  Van  Ranse  urged,  nay,  almost  insisted, 
that  Russell  should  come  to  live  with  them. 

“ The  doors  of  our  house  are  standing  open 
to  welcome  you,”  he  said.  “ Our  excellent 
housekeeper  has  preceded  our  arrival  by  sev- 
eral months,  and  we  shall  be  only  too  happy 
to  take  you  there.  We  are  two  or  three  miles 
from  town,  certainly,  but  the  road  is  a com- 
fortable one,  I hear,  and  the  villa  sufficiently 
attractive.  We  shall  have  a pleasant  lawn 
and  flower-garden,  too ; will  not  these  tempt 
you  ? ” 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Russell  refused 
this  kind  offer.  He  saw  the  necessity  of  im- 
mediate action  with  regard  to  his  affairs, 
and  wished  to  be  as  near  the  busy  centre 
of  men  as  possible.  His  whole  thought  was 
fixed  upon  the  hour  for  return,  — to  do  his 


SOLITUDE. 


115 


work  and  go  back  to  his  home.  He  was  bent 
upon  this  end,  forj*  with  undivided  attention, 
who  could  tell  how  speedily  his  labor  might 
be  accomplished.  Therefore,  with  the  promise 
of  frequent  visits  at  the  villa,  he  separated 
from  his  devoted  friends  on  the  crowded  pier 
of  the  great  city  of  the  Pacific. 


IX. 


PRESENCE. 

T T OW  soon  can  Nature,  by  her  loving  skies 
and  caressing  breezes,  by  the  uniform 
circling  of  day  and  night,  each  unfolding  a 
fresh  surprise  of  beauty,  charm  her  lovers  in- 
to reconcilement  with  much,  even  with  exile  ! 
But  she  cannot  shut  ‘‘  that  inward  eye,  which 
is  the  bliss  of  solitude,”  and  also  is  its  tor- 
ment. Russell  sought  Nature,  and  courted 
her  for  every  new  manifestation  because  it 
was  new,  and  for  all  that  was  familiar  be- 
cause the  past  would  rise  before  him  then 
as  if  enshrined  in  it.  But  as  the  time  ap- 
proached when  he  calculated  Erminia  should 
receive  his  ring,  nothing  he  had  seen  before 
could  satisfy  his  restlessness.  He  desired  to 
travel,  — to  climb  the  mountains  and  lay  his 


PRESENCE, 


117 


hands  upon  their  changeful  loveliness.  He 
forgot  the  glory  of.  the  unattained,  and  that 
the  glowing  heights,  built  up  of  opal,  jasper, 
and  chalcedony,  making  the  distance  beauti- 
ful, are  transmuted  by  the  climber’s  step  into 
rough  rocks  and  frowning  crags.  He  must 
go  thence.  The  beauty  of  endeavor  smiled 
for  him. 

It  had  become  the  habit  of  Eussell’s  life, 
since  they  were  fairly  established  in  their  new 
home,  to  pay  a daily  visit  to  his  friends.  When 
the  labors  of  the  day  were  over,  he  would  join 
them  and  watch  the  sun  fade  away  from  the 
green  valley,  and  linger  on  the  shining  moun- 
tain peaks,  and  die  in  purple  shadow.  He 
told  them  of  his  projected  wanderings,  one 
lovely  afternoon,  as  they  sat  thus  together  on 
the  terrace,  — the  early  approach  of  spring  in 
that  kind  climate  already  inviting  travellers, 
and  serving  as  sufficient  excuse  for  journeying. 
To  his  surprise  he  found  his  host  and  hostess 


I 


118 


ASPHODEL. 


almost  as  eager  for  change  as  himself,  nor  was 
Amy  a whit  behind  them  in  her  desire. 

Even  Russell’s  clear  insight  had  not  alto- 
gether  penetrated  the  lives  of  his  companions. 
Mrs.  Van  Eanse  was  a woman  of  exquisite 
tact  and  elegance,  and,  although  possessing  no 
particular  “ accomplishment,”  was  quite  as 
agreeable  and  useful  a person  in  the  world  as 
if  she  had  passed  several  hours  every  day  over 
the  Italian  Grammar  or  Spanish  Dictionary. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  determined  that  Amy, 
whose  life  was  not  overcrowded  with  active 
duties  like  her  own,  should  develop  whatever 
talent  she  might  possess,  especially  for  music. 
Amy  had  not  musical  genius,  but  the  vigor 
and  impetuosity  of  her  nature,  and  the  de- 
voted study  of  the  best  masters  caused  her 
to  become  an  excellent  musician,  and  to 
give  her  mother  satisfaction.  Her  pure  taste 
helped  her  to  a perception  of  the  finest  in 
every  form  of  art,  and  enabled  her  to  under- 


PRESENCE. 


119 


stand  the  music  into  which  at  times  she  flung 
the  unexpressed  and  undeveloped  fire  of  her 
life.  A wayward  child,  Amy  was  neither  to 
be  counted  on  nor  controlled.  Her  love  of 
luxury  savored  of  Orientalism ; she  needed 
purple  cushions  and  soft  carpets  and  flowers, 
— and  she  had  them  all.  When  the  winds 
were  chilly  she  liked  a couch  and  a novel,  and 
the  house  warm  as  midsummer.  Of  society, 
she  was  extremely  fond,  — not  more  so  per- 
haps than  society  was  of  her,  for  this  love  may 
usually  be  considered  reciprocal,  like  any 
worthier  affection ; (if  I have  not  committed 
a sacrilege  by  applying  the  sacred  name  at 
all  to  anything  so  devoid  of  purpose  or  re- 
sult !)  Her  gayety,  wit,  and,  above  all,  her 
sweet  afiectionateness,  fed  every  one  with 
whom  she  came  in  contact  with  blitheness 
like  that  of  the  fresh,  common  air.  Yet  in 
the  large  society  from  which  she  had  just 
stepped  no  one  can  reign  as  queen.  Petty 


120 


ASPHODEL, 


jealousies,  or  fanciful  exclusiveness,  break  up 
and  mar  the  surface  of  private  life  by  waves  as 
healthful  as  those  which  stir  the  wide  surface 
of  political  life,  or  the  waters  of  the  broad,  salt 
sea.  The  stagnant  placidity  of  aristocracy  is 
now  outworn,  and  there  is  no  peace  at  heart 
save  for  those  who  wear  the  stars  of  Content, 
and  the  stripes  of  Humility.  The  more  A Tiny 
expended  herself  for  others,  and  the  more 
hearts  she  conquered,  so  much  the  more  would 
all  turn  shortly  to  dust  and  ashes  in  her  grasp. 
Her  neighbors  would  give  a more  successful 
party  than  herself,  or  she  would  find  some 
house  richer  in  paintings,  if  not  in  books,  than 
their  own.  She  thought  she  did  not  care  for 
these  things,  yet  the  time  lavished  upon  her 
fifty  intimate  friends  proved  that  the  demon 
of  popularity  possessed  her,  and  left  her  no 
rest.  It  was  not  a cause  for  wonder  that  Amy 
grew  thin. 

Going  out  again  to-night?’’  Mr.  Van 


PRESENCE. 


121 


Ranse  would  say  sometimes,  when  Saturday 
night  came  round,  and  for  the  sixth  night  in 
the  week  Amy  appeared  at  dinner  in  her  taste- 
ful evening  toilette. 

“ 0 yes,  papa,  it  is  not  a party,  you  know. 
I am  only  going  to  meet  a few  friends  at 
Ellen’s;  — she  said  I must  come.”  And  Mr. 
Van  Ranse,  who  was  entirely  persuaded  that 
the  party  would  not  ^^go  off”  well  without, 
allowed  her,  for  Ellen’s  sake,  to  go  again.  In 
this  way  the  two  winters  were  passed,  after 
Amy  had  left  school,  before  their  departure 
from  home.  What  change  could  be  greater 
than  to  tliat  of  their  present  retirement! 

Therefore  we  can  readily  understand  why 
Russell’s  proposal  for  an  upland  expedition 
should  have  met  with  such  immediate  favor. 
He  matured  the  plan  as  he  walked  towards 
“ The  Rosery  ” one  afternoon,  for  so  Amy 
had  christened  their  new  home,  and  it  was 
accepted  at  once,  with  but  slight  modificar- 


6 


122 


ASPHODEL. 


tions.  The  dreary  season  of  continued  rain 
was  past,  and  the  smile  of  spring  shone  in  the 
sunshine.  It  was  the  smile  of  hope  to  Rus- 
sell, and  he  could  not  linger  quietly  where  he 
was,  and  wait.  The  conscious  passing  of  the 
hours  crushed  him.  But  a load  was  lifted 
when,  as  they  sat  upon  the  terrace  overlook- 
ing the  pleasant  rose-garden,  watching  the 
white  peaks  growing  warm  in  the  western 
glow,  he  found  sympathy  in  his  restlessness. 
Amy  was  ready  to  start  immediately ; and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.^Yan  Ranse,  sufficiently  pleased  with 
the  satisfaction  of  their  child,  consented  to 
leave  home  the  following  week. 

Russell  feared  everything  for  his  compan- 
ions upon  this  adventurous  expedition;  but, 
after  all  their  kindness  to  him,  he  could  not 
start  without  proposing  to  Mr.  Yan  Ranse  to 
accompany  him,  little  thinking,  when  he  made 
the  suggestion,  that  the  ladies  would  consider 
themselves  included  in  the  plan.  But  he  was 


PRESENCE. 


123 


reassured,  after  the  first  day’s  journey,  of  their 
ability  to  make  the  trip.  The  climate  and 
the  healthful  new  life  had  already  done  much 
for  Amy.  Every  day  seemed  to  see  her  more 
round  and  glowing  than  the  last,  and  when, 
near  the  end  of  their  mountain  climbing,  he 
watched  her  one  day,  as,  preceding  them  all, 
she  was  the  first  to  reach  the  summit  whither 
they  were  bound,  he  was  rejoiced,  for  the  sake 
of  the  others,  at  least,  that  the  journey  had 
been  made.  Even  Mrs.  Van  Eanse,  who  had 
acknowledged  a slight  dread  of  novel  expe- 
riences, proved  herself  an  excellent  horse- 
woman, and,  as  their  plan  was  to  rest  during 
midday,  riding  only  at  morning  and  towards 
sunset,  there  was  not  much  fear  of  over-fa- 
tigue. 

Russell  frequently  chose  to  select  early  the 
spot  for  their  noontide  shelter,  starting  in  the 
morning  an  hour  before  the  party  was  in  mo- 
tion, and  riding  rapidly  over  the  green  inters 


124 


ASPHODEL. 


vales,  his  horse’s  fetlocks  steeped  in  dew,  while 
he  watched  the  grandeurs  of  awakening  day 
upon  the  heights  around.  These  holy  hours 
when  man  awakes  to  greet  the  infant  morn- 
ing, and,  after  prayer,  arises  with  the  sins  of 
yesterday  past,  and  the  unspotted  page  of  the 
future  outstretched  in  its  purity  before  him, 
— in  these  hours  Eussell  knew  that  manna 
fell,  and  he  went  forth  to  gather  it.  The  wil- 
derness through  which  he  passed  was  beauti- 
ful as  Paradise.  The  rapid  mountain  streams 
dashed  across  his  path,  sometimes  glowing 
like  amber,  as  if  sunlight  were  perpetually 
imprisoned  in  the  crystal  flood,  sometimes 
clear  and  white  as  silver;  and  as  the  horse- 
man rode,  he  found  one  invisible  sweet  com- 
panion to  accompany  his  steps,  one  presence 
forever  in  harmony  with  the  scene,  one  who 
drew  him  up  to  the  serener  heights  of  her  com- 
panionship, and  for  whom  his  fairest  thought 
could  never  grow  too  fair.  “ You  are  my 


PRESENCE. 


125 


Asphodel,”  he  exclaimed,  to  that  sweet  vision, 
‘‘  and  as  I have  seen  you  blooming  once,  so 
shall  you  bloom  forever  in  memory’s  immor- 
tal habitations  ! ” 

Long  before  noon  Eussell  paused  and  rode 
more  slowly,  searching  on  either  hand  for  a 
halting  place.  He  wished  to  select  the  no- 
blest oaks,  the  clearest  stream,  the  finest 
mountain  aspect  to  enchant  his  friends,  and 
frequently  devoted  hours  to  the  choice.  Some- 
times before  he  had  altogether  made  a de- 
cision he  would  hear  Amy’s  laugh  rippling 
through  the  forest,  and  see  the  quails  rise 
with  their  wild  cry,  startled  by  the  approach- 
ing cavalcade.  Then  he  would  hastily  estab- 
lish himself  in  order  to  bid  them  welcome. 

He  was  always  sure  of  a kindly  greeting 
from  the  approaching  party.  While  their  peo- 
ple were  preparing  the  noonday  meal,  Amy 
would  have  some  merry  incident  to  relate 
which  had  happened  since  the  previous  even- 


ed 


I 


126 


ASPHODEL. 


ing,  or  a jest  aimed  at  her  father  for  his 
dauntless  attack  upon  sofne  phantom  bear, 
although  bears  were  by  no  means  always 
phantoms  in  this  region,  and  were  the  con- 
tinued terror  of  her  mother,  who  did  not 
relish  her  daughter’s  jokes  upon  the  subject. 
Eussell  felt  as  if  his  brothers  and  sisters  were 
about  him,  such  was  the  kind  household  af- 
fection manifested  by  his  friends  during  the 
journey.  They  were  not  wholly  ignorant  of 
his  lonely  condition,  and  evidently  felt  a satis- 
faction, he  could  not  but  discover,  in  doing 
something  to  alleviate  his  exile.  Nothing  oc- 
curred to  mar  their  enjoyment  of  the  magnifi- 
cent scenery  which  surrounded  them.  Their 
friendship,  a possession  which  may  be  either 
made  enduring  or  utterly  destroyed  under  the 
test  of  travel,  grew  steadily  day  by  day. 

There  was  but  one  incident  during  the 
whole  trip  which  gave  him  the  slightest  un- 
easiness. It  occurred  towards  sunset  on  the 


PRESENCE. 


127 


eighth  day  of  their  absence.  The  noontide 
had  been  passed  on  the  snowy  mountain-top, 
and  they  were  now  rapidly  descending  into 
the  valley  for  the  night.  Suddenly,  as  they 
turned  a sharp  angle  in  their  descent,  leaving 
the  precipice  on  the  right  hand,  Russell’s 
horse,  usually  sure-footed,  stumbled,  slipped, 
and  a less  skilful  horseman  than  himself 
would  have  been  cast  headlong  into  the  abyss. 
For  one  moment  he  believed  himself  lost ; the 
next  instant  he  had  regained  his  seat  and  the 
animal  had  recovered  his  footing.  Fortunately, 
the  ladies  had  preceded  him,  but  a cry  from 
the  guide  in  the  rear  soon  brought  the  party 
to  a halt.  His  voluble  tongue  began  immedi- 
ately to  relate  the  story  to  the  others,  while 
Russell  quietly  dismounted  in  order  to  tighten 
his  saddle-girth.  When  he  had  finished  the 
work  he  turned  to  speak  to  Amy,  and  to  his 
surprise  found  her  speechless,  and  white  as  the 
handkerchief  she  held  in  her  hand.  “ If  she 


128 


ASPHODEL. 


had  seen  the  danger,”  he  reflected,  she  might 
well  have  been  alarmed ; but  ” — and  Rus- 
sell shuddered  at  the  thought  — “ could  it 
be  possible,  he  questioned,  that  Amy  should 
learn  to  love  one  so  cold  and  hopeless  as  him- 
self ? ” 

A week  afterward  they  were  again  estab- 
lished in  the  happy  retirement  of  the  Ros- 
ery.”  Russell  perceived  at  length,  what  his 
business  friends  had  long  ago  perceived  for 
him,  that  the  labors  for  which  he  came  were 
not  to  be  speedily  ended,  and  he  endeavored 
no  longer  to  demand  querulously  whether 
every  week  were  the  last,  but  tried  to  wait 
more  patiently.  If  he  had  not  altogether  for- 
gotten the  shock  of  that  afternoon  upon  the 
mountain,  he  found  the  method  of  life,  ar- 
ranged for  him  by  his  friends,  too  agreeable 
to  be  disturbed  by  a light  fancy.  The  pretty, 
flattering  ways  of  Amy  were  pleasant  to  him, 
and  he  could  not  find  the  courage  to  get  on 


PRESENCE. 


129 


without  them.  The  exquisiteness  of  the  whole 
establishment  was  congenial  to  his  fine  taste, 
and  he  saw  this  also  was  due  in  a large 
measure  to  Amy.  Her  faultless  toilette,  in 
delicate  harmony  with  the  blossoms  sho. would 
select  to  wear,  her  sprightly,  friendly  ways,  the 
social  table  on  the  terrace,  overlooking  the 
rose-garden,  and  in  the  distance  the  faint  blue 
of  the  Pacific  Sea,  — all  these  attracted,  and 
threw  unseen  fetters  over  him.  He  fancied 
this  idyllic  home  to  be  a wavm  pillow  of  affec 
tion  whereon  to  rest  and  calm  his  lonely  heart, 
and  he  forgot  life  is  but  clay  and  man  a sculp- 
tor. He  had  eaten  of  the  lotus  and  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  garden  of  a dream. 

“You  must  not  fail  to  come  to-morrow, 
you  know,”  said  Mrs.  Van  Eanse  one  evening 
to  Russell  as  he  was  about  to  take  his  leave. 
“We  are  to  open  the  Rosery,  you  remember, 
for  a fHe,  I think  no  season  can  be  more 
beautiful  here  than  the  present.”  And  the 


6* 


1 


130 


ASPHODEL. 


lady  glanced  with  satisfaction,  as  she  spoke, 
upon  the  blooming  beds  of  flowers  at  her 
feet,  and  at  the  lovely  panorama  bey  or  d. 
Then  she  turned  to  Amy,  who  stood  beside 
her. 

The  child  looked  like  the  queen  of  the 
roses  this  afternoon,  — a blush-rose,  — as  she 
stood  in  her  dress  of  tender  shifting  color 
like  the  sea  in  mist.  Yes,”  said  her  mother, 
dreamily,  “ we  could  hardly  have  chosen  bet- 
ter.” 

“ You  ’ll  be  sure  to  come,”  said  queen-rose, 
looking  up,  “ for  after  we  have  seen  enough 
of  people,  I must  take  you  to  look  at  the  fire- 
flies in  the  thicket,  which  I never  can  do  lately, 
because  papa  always  wants  you.  And  you 
have  promised  to  go  some  time.  They  are 
almost  large  enough  and  quite  brilliant  enough 
to  talk  to.” 

The  next  evening  found  Russell  driving 
quietly  out  towards  the  valley.  It  was  two 


PRESENCE, 


131 


hours  later  than  usual  with  him,  because  he 
wished  to  come  upon  the  scene  after  the  day 
had  faded,  that  he  might  enjoy  the  effect  of 
the  illumination.  But  the  long  lustre  of  mid- 
summer still  shone  as  he  passed  over  the  well- 
known  road  where  every  live-oak,  sycamore, 
and  willow  seemed  to  have  a familiar  nod  or 
greeting  for  him.  The  pleasing  sensation  of 
going  to  a home  filled  his  mind  with  calm. 
The  mountain  air,  descending  from  the  icy 
peaks  still  tipped  with  opal  fire,  stimulated 
him ; and  when,  coming  in  before  the  other 
guests,  he  greeted  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Van  Eanse 
affectionately,  his  unwonted  happiness  com- 
municated itself  with  electric  effect,  and  the 
keen  joy  of  their  sympathy  and  union  flashed 
and  bound  them  to  each  other  by  closer  and 
tenderer  relations  than  before.  Amy  had  not 
yet  appeared,  and  when  she  came  was  hardly 
like  herself.  She  was  paler  than  Russell  had 
seen  her  of  late,  and  her  hair,  usually  dis- 


132 


ASPHODEL. 


posed  to  escape  into  any  pretty  waywardness 
in  which  she  chose  to  allow  it,  was  confined 
simply  to-night  in  a shining  net.  Her  dress, 
too,  though  of  lace,  was  of  plain  fawn-color, 
fastened  close  at  the  throat,  and  unrelieved 
except  by  flecks  of  gold  and  a chain  clasp- 
ing an  antique  gem  around  her  neck.  She 
did  not  come  at  once  to  meet  Russell,  as  was 
her  custom,  although  she  must  have  recog- 
nized his  voice  in  the  drawing-room,  but,  as  if 
the  air  of  the  house  were  oppressive,  she  drew 
about  her  the  little  cloak  he  liked  to  see  her 
wear,  with  its  warm,  white  fur,  and  passed 
rapidly  down  the  garden.  Soon  he  could  dis- 
tinguish her  through  the  avenue  of  noble  oaks 
superintending  the  arrangements  of  the  lights, 
removing  them  sometimes  where  they  hung  too 
thickly  together,  and  placing  others  where 
the  foliage  threw  too  dense  a shade.  From 
the  drawing-room  they  could  see  the  shifting 
lanterns,  and  catch  a glimpse  of  her  sometimes 


PRESENCE. 


133 


when  the  sparkling  threads  of  gold  upon  her 
dress  flashed  in  the  light. 

Presently  she  came  towards  them,  through 
the  garden  walk,  moving  thoughtfully.  She 
was  Amy  the  woman  now.  She  lingered 
among  the  roses,  her  sisters,  as  if  their  society 
was  sweeter  than  that  of  others.  To  be  sure, 
said  Russell  to  himself,  she  has  not  the  an- 
ticipation of  meeting  friends  to-night ; nearly 
all  the  invited  guests  must  be  mere  acquaint- 
ances, and  few  of  them  can  ever  be  anything 
else  to  her.  Yet  the  pleasure  of  giving  pleas- 
ure was  usually  quite  enough  for  her.  Even 
when  the  company  began  to  arrive,  although 
her  part  was  performed  with  a grace  and  ease 
only  rivalled  by  her  mother’s  elegance,  Rus- 
sell could  not  but  perceive  her  heart  was 
elsewhere.  He  stood  not  far  from  her  side, 
and  once  or  twice  essayed  to  rally  her  on  her 
sobriety.  But  the  duties  of  receiving  for  a 
while  divided  them.  Presently,”  he  said  to 


134 


ASPHODEL, 


himself,  the  dancing  will  begin,  and  this 
will  perhaps  give  me-  an  opportunity.’’ 

Just  as  the  music  sounded,  however,  a new- 
comer, with  whom  he  remembered  having  had 
some  business  in  the  city,  approached  the  la- 
dies. The  stranger  had  scarcely  made  his  sal- 
utations when  it  was  necessary  to  make  room 
for  the  dancing,  and  turniug  aside  he  sudden- 
ly perceived  Eussell  close  at  hand. 

My  dear  sir,”  he  exclaimed  in  a loud 
voice,  ‘‘  let  me  congratulate  you  sincerely  up- 
on your  engagement.  I am  happy  and  proud 
to  learn  you  have  decided  to  settle  upon  this 
shore.  ‘ Westward  the  star  of  empire  takes 
its  way,’  sir.” 

What  do  you  say  ! ” gasped  Russell,  whose 
strength  and  presence  of  mind  seemed  to  for- 
sake him  utterly  as  the  meaning  of  the  man’s 
speech,  delivered  in  a stentorian  voice,  came 
to  him.  His  first  thought  was.  How  shall  I 
stop  this  man  ? his  second  was  of  Amy.  Could 


PRESENCE. 


135 


she  have  overheard  that  speech,  or  did  the 
music  drown  it  ? Alas  ! • her  manner  to-night 
was  no  longer  a mystery  to  him.  The  cruel  re- 
port had  already  reached  her.  Whether  this 
particular  voice  had  shocked  her  ear  he  could 
not  discover.  She  was  talking  now  with  the 
gentleman  at  her  side  who  asked  her  to  dance, 
and  they  were  about  to  begin  a quadrille. 

He  broke  suddenly  away  from  his  torment- 
or, and  went  out  into  the  air.  He  must  be 
alone  until  this  dreadful  dance  was  ended, 
and  he  could  speak  to  her.  The  sharp  sting 
of  remorse  overwhelmed  him.  Had  he  then 
in  carelessness,  and  love  of  ease,  and  gratified 
vanity,  suffered  himself  to  wreck  the  happi- 
ness of  this  family  ? Did  Amy  love  him  ? 
he  asked  himself,  — and  his  mind  reverted 
quickly,  as  in  the  hour  of  danger  all  the  past 
will  flash  across  our  vision,  to  the  countless 
proofs  of  her  devotion,  the  meaning  of  which 
had  until  now  passed  unregarded.  He  had 


136 


ASPHODEL, 


fancied  them  to  be  the  expression  of  the  irre- 
pressible affectionateness  of  her  nature,  which 
was  ever  ready  to  lavish  itself  upon  the  near- 
est object.  Now  he  saw  it  all,  and  the  re- 
membrance became  torture.  Here  was  hu- 
miliation indeed ! Must  he  then  relinquish  the 
aspiration  of  his  nobler  nature,  having  proved 
himself  unworthy  ? Must  he  forego  a love 
that  was  endeavor,  but  whose  crown  was 
woven  of  immortal  asphodel,  the  perfect  lily 
of  love,  fadeless  and  perfected  ? 

Questions  and  prayers  hurried  in  wild  con- 
fusion through  his  spirit.  His  mind  was  like 
the  face  of  the  summer’s  sky  when  the  storm- 
wind  rushes  over  it.  He  walked  backward 
and  forward  scarcely  knowing  what  he  did, 
yet  striving  to  find  light.  Then  he  threw  him- 
self upon  a seat,  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
and,  benumbed  with  grief,  became  unconscious 
of  speech  or  silence.  How  long  he  sat  he 
could  not  tell,  but  the  discordant  clangor  from 


PRESENCE. 


137 


the  house,  for  such  the  music  seemed  to  his 
ear,  untuned  by  misery,  had  not  ceased,  when 
a light  hand  touched  his  shoulder.  He  started, 
— it  was  Amy. 

‘‘  I wish  to  speak  with  you,”  she  said,  half 
abruptly,  her  childish  coquetry  vanishing  that 
moment,  as  it  were,  and  becoming  transformed 
into  a frank  and  serious  womanliness ; ‘‘1 
heard  you  congratulated  to-night  upon  our 
engagement,  an  incident  which  happened  to 
me  also  this  morning,  coupled  with  the  an- 
nouncement that  this  innocent  rose-fete  was 
to  celebrate  our  betrothal ! 

‘‘  I am  sorry,”  she  added,  with  a gentle 
dignity,  under  which  her  emotion  was  not 
altogether  hidden,  ‘‘  I am  sorry  to  say,  I 
think  we  should  part  to-night.  Afterward 
you  shall  find  opportunity  to  explain  all  to 
my  father.  I cannot  mention  the  subject  to 
my  parents.  It  grieves  me  that  I must  de- 
prive them  of  — so  dear  a friend.  For  my- 


138 


ASPHODEL. 


self — ’’  She  could  get  no  farther,  her  voice 
failed,  and  the  poor  girl  burst  into  a paroxysm 
of  tears. 

What  could  Eussell  do  ? He  rose,  and,  gen- 
tly putting  his  arms  about  her,  placed  her  by 
his  side  upon  the  garden  seat. 

“Dear  Amy,”  he  said  tenderly,  as  if  he 
were  soothing  a child,  “ why  do  you  weep  ? 
Do  not  be  so  shocked  at  what  people  say.” 
Then  in  pure  pity  he  stopped  speaking,  for  her 
agony  seemed  more  than  she  could  bear  or  he 
endure  to  see,  and  with  every  word  he  said 
her  trouble  increased  rather  than  diminished. 
After  a pause  he  added,  “I  shall  not  go 
away,  Amy.  I do  not  mind  such  foolish  re- 
ports.” 

“ Yes ! ” said  she,  starting  up  from  the 
seat  and  interrupting  him  violently,  “ you 
must  go,  you  shall  not  stay,  I cannot  bear 
it,”  — and  the  poor  unhappy  girl  flung  her- 
self down  again,  now  upon  the  ground  before 


PRESENCE. 


139 


him,  as  if  she  would  beseech  him  to  leave 
her. 

Amy,”  said  Russell  once  more,  his  voice 
full  • of  tenderness,  my  darling,”  and  he 
lifted  her,  as  he  spoke,  like  a child  from  the 
cold  grass  and  placed  her  upon  the  seat. 
^^It  is  true  this  is  not  our  betrothal  fete,  but 
we  have  hardly  known  each  other  yet  as  we 
might.  I have  never  told  you  the  story  of  my 
life,  of  my  daughter,  and  the  home  that  I have 
known ; and  you  are  too  young,  perhaps,  to 
learn  to  love  one  who  has  suffered  as  I 
have  done,  and  whose  blue  sky  is  now  always 
shaded.” 

She  lifted  her  head  as  he  said  these  words, 
like  a flower  that  has  been  beaten  by  the 
rain,  and  turned  her  tearful  eyes  upon  his 
face. 

I sometimes  think,”  she  said,  between 
her  sobs,  that  no  one  can  suffer  more 
than  I ! ” 


140 


ASPHODEL. 


He  did  not  smile  as  she  spoke,  her  distress 
was  too  real.  He  simply  said,  Dear  Amy, 
do  not  be  so  unhappy,  but  answer  me,  may 
I come  to  see  you,  that  we  may  know  each 
other  better?  May  I,  Amy^”  he  said  beseech- 
ingly, when  she  did  not  reply,  — may  I ? ” 
And  he  kissed  her. 

In  a moment  she  had  slipped  from  her  seat, 
and,  kneeling,  flung  her  arms  about  him,  and 
had  drawn  him  down  in  one  passionate  em- 
brace, drowning  all  sense  in  that  deep  ecstasy. 
There  she  lay,  and  neither  moved  nor  spoke 
till  Russell  said  gently,  “ Amy,  I must  take 
you  to  the  house  now,  the  air  grows  very 
cold.  Let  me  wrap  your  cloak  around  you.” 
Half  supporting  her  tiny  figure,  he  fastened 
the  warm  fur  securely  about  her  throat,  and 
led  her  from  the  spot.  She  turned  unresist- 
ingly to  go  with  him.  When  they  came  to 
the  rose-garden,  Russell  stooped  and  gathered 
a cluster  of  half-blown  buds  and  put  them 


PRESENCE. 


141 


in  her  hand.  Then  they  entered  the  house 
together. 

There  was  a pause  in  the  dancing  as  they 
reached  the  broad  window  of  the  drawing- 
room, and  it  was  evident  that  Amy  had  been 
missed.  When  she  made  her  reappearance 
Russell  could  not  help  observing  the  rapid 
glances  exchanged  by  the  merry  groups  of 
talkers.  He  now  carried  her  cloak  upon  his 
arm,  and  she  had  placed  his  flowers  in  her 
dress.  But  she  no  longer  observed  or  lis- 
tened to  what  others  were  saying,  for  Russell 
was  about  to  take  his  leave,  lingering  how- 
ever a moment  in  order  to  ask  her  if  he 
might  return  to-morrow,  later  than  his  cus- 
tom, in  order  to  ride  with  her  alone.  She 
hardly  spoke  when  she  answered,  but  turned 
her  eyes  upon  him,  full  of  a lustre  he  had  not 
seen  before,  and  smiled  assent.  He  thought 
her  beautiful  then.  The  womanly  tenderness 
awaking  in  her  added  a softness  to  every 


142 


ASPHODEL, 


line.  The  calmness  of  repressed  joy  caused 
her  face  to  glow  with  subdued'  radiance,  and 
the  sculpturesque  beauty  of  her  appearance 
was  at  that  moment  enhanced  by  the  float- 
ing back  of  her  lace  sleeve,  which  left  her 
rounded  arm  unveiled  to  the  very  shoulder. 
As  Eussell  went  out  at  last,  after  a word  of 
farewell,  he  heard  on  every  side  the  universal 
praises  of  her  loveliness.  “ Yes,  she  is  lovely,’’ 
he  said  to  himself,  “ they  all  see  it,”  and  with 
a word  of  good  night  to  his  friends  he  drove 
rapidly  away  into  the  darkness. 

He  wrapped  himself  in  his  cloak,  and  sought 
obliviousness  as  the  carriage  whirled  on,  but 
every  glancing  thought  became  distinct  as 
stars  upon  the  black  sky.  When  he  reached 
his  lodging  he  found  the  fire  smouldering  in 
the  grate  and  the  house  silent.  He  heaped  the 
wood  till  it  blazed,  then  drew  the  couch  be- 
fore it,  and  flung  himself  down  hoping  for 
sleep.  Instead  of  sleeping,  he  soon  became 


PRESENCE. 


143 


wakeful  as  at  midday,  and  arose  again  and 
walked  the  room,  until  at  last,  utterly  ex- 
hausted, he  lay  down  again  and  suddenly  lost 
all  consciousness.  He  could  not  tell  how  long 
he  slept,  but  when  he  awoke  there  was  only  a 
thread  of  light  in  the  broad  east,  and  he  was 
unrefreshed  as  if  the  struggle  of  the  previous 
night  had  continued  till  the  dawn.  The  rum- 
ble of  market  wagons  had  broken  his  half- 
finished  dream,  and  before  he  was  aware  he 
slept  again,  this  time  soundly  and  forgettingly. 
It  was  broad  day  when  he  at  length  became 
conscious.  His  servant  had  entered  and  shut 
out  the  brilliant  sunshine,  and  placed  letters 
on  the  table  by  his  side.  Among  them  were 
letters  from  home  ! He  seized  the  pile  eagerly, 
but  they  slipped  from  his  tremulous  hand, 
and  he  lacked  strength  and  desire  to  look 
them  over.  In  a moment,  however,  he  recov- 
ered himself,  and,  turning  them  in  his  fingers 
as  by  some  fine  instinct,  seized,  immediately 


144 


ASPHODEL, 


.upon  the  one  he  wished  and  dreaded.  The 
long-expected  letter  from  Erminia  ! Again  he 
hesitated,  but  why  should  he  now  fear  what 
he  had  so  long  hoped  for  ? He  tore  the  en- 
velope ; there  was  a second  enclosure.  Still 
more  impatiently  he  pulled  this  carelessly 
apart,  and,  as  the  paper  yielded,  his  ring  rolled 
with  a sharp  sound  across  the  floor.  On  the 
inside  was  written  simply,  “ The  steamer  sails 
immediately ; your  letter  has  been  unaccount- 
ably  delayed  until  now.  I can  only  say  I must 
not  keep  your  ring ; I will  write  by  the  next 
mail ; dear  Fanny  is  well.’^ 

Eussell  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  A day 
or  two  before  he  would  have  felt  that  the  only 
desire  of  his  life  was  dashed  to  the  earth. 
Now  the  letter  gave  him  a bitter  sense  of 
relief.  If  he  could  not  hope  to  win  Erminia, 
who  had  been  his  aspiration,  if  she  was  too 
high,  too  pure  for  one  so  weak  as  he,  should 
he  not  at  least  endeavor  to  make  another 


PRESENCE. 


145 


happy?  One  who  had  daringly  adventured 
all  a woman  can  venture  upon  the  stake  of 
his  affection ! Who  had  merged  every  consid- 
eration of  the  world  in  the  tide  of  her  love 
for  him ! Who  had  forgotten  her  separate 
existence  by  his  side ! And  above  all,  one 
whom  he  had  allowed  himself  to  approach  as 
an  elder  brother,  until  he  was  awakened  to 
find  her  passionate  nature  exhausting  itself 
upon  him  with  all  the  fiery  fervor  of  first 
love.  Dear,  clinging  Amy ! should  he  not  ask 
her  to  be  his  wife  ? She  is  gay  and  witty, 
he  said  to  himself,  and  the  world  loves  her, 
what  wonder  is  it  then  that  she  loves  the 
world ; but  all  that  will  not  matter  since  she 
loves  me  better.  She  shall  be  mine,  mine 
forever.  It  is  my  first  duty  and  shall  be  my 
true  desire.  In  the  next  instant  the  memory 
of  the  home  he  had  left  came  back  to  him, 
— the  picture  of  those  quiet  days  when  in  the 
stillness  God’s  sunshine  fell  upon  his  spirit, 


7 


J 


146 


ASPHODEL. 


and  Erminia  s voice  dropped  in  pure  harmony 
through  his  world  of  thought.  Under  the 
shelter  of  that  love  he  had  seen  all  truth 
more  clearly ; the  factitious  crust  of  life  was 
torn  away,  and  he  had  been  quickened  to 
write  and  live  at  his  best  and  fullest.”  He 
shuddered  now,  — he  must  shut  that  vision 
out. 

The  day  opening  thus  upon  shadows  became 
endlessly  long  to  Russell,  yet  he  could  not  for- 
get many  days  had  been  the  same  of  late. 
He  had  become  restless.  Sometimes  he  fan- 
cied it  was  because  the  rush  of  business  life 
perplexed  and  disturbed  him.  He  could  not 
write  now,  nor  had  he  found  it  possible  to  do 
so  since  the  voyage.  Sometimes  he  fancied 
the  sea  had  disturbed  his  head,  but  he  smiled 
at  himself  for  that  idea,  when  he  remembered 
how  few  quiet  hours  had  been  reserved  for 
the  calm  of  thought  or  the  melodies  that  lie 
behind  it.  He  had  given  himself  too  much 


PRESENCE, 


147 


innocent  dissipation  with  Amy,  ever  since  their 
arrival.  Although  a stranger,  she  could  not 
live  without  people,  and  some  plan  was  always 
on  foot  for  a good  time.”  The  memory  of 
these  days  made  him  feverish.  He  could  no 
longer  endure  the  close  room.  He  went  out, 
therefore,  and,  turning  his  face  towards  the 
sea,  in  half  an  hour  he  found  himself  on  the 
shore.  How  different  was  the  scene  from  that 
lonely  walk  in  the  mists  of  afternoon,  when 
he  had  already  told  Erminia  of  his  intended 
departure.  Then  the  familiar  way  was  stern, 
and  the  majesty  of  grief  was  his ; but  the  head- 
land light,  gleaming  at  last  upon  the  grow- 
ing night,  became  a symbol  of  hope.  Now  the 
blaze  of  noonday  covered  the  broad  sands  with 
a vivid  glare ; the  sea  danced  and  sparkled 
fresh  with  spicy  airs ; the  white  pelican  swayed 
upon  the  blue  waves,  and  the  unknown  inhab- 
itants of  the  vast  Pacific  came  to  the  surface 
with  their  broad  backs  to  fill  him  with  new 


148 


ASPHODEL 


wonder.  All  was  weird  and  strange.  The 
sands,  white  as  silver,  shone  like  a vast  setting 
for  the  turquoise  sea.  There  was  no  shade,  no 
rest ; the  sparkling  floor,  the  dancing  waves, 
the  flitting  birds,  quickened  and  stung  his  rest- 
lessness. The  splendor  of  the  scene  height- 
ened the  fever  of  his  blood,  and  with  unallayed 
disquiet  he  returned  wearied  to  his  own  room. 

To-night,  he  said'  to  himself,  I must  tell 
her  everything.  And  while  he  revolved  the 
question  in  his  mind  of  how  he  should  frame 
his  speech,  the  hours  fled  and  found  him  still 
uncertain,  standing  by  his  horse’s  side,  dis- 
mounted, at  The  Eosery.”  Then  Amy  ran, 
with  her  heavy  riding-dress  gathered  up  and 
her  hat  upon  her  arm,  to  bid  him  welcome. 
A blush  flooded  her  face  as  she  took  his  hand, 
and  then  faded  back  quickly,  leaving,  in  spite 
of  her  gay  ways,  a look  of  wan  anxiety,  which 
Eussell  observed  with  pain.  His  calm  man- 
ner, kind  yet  sad,  made  her  nervous;  and 


PRESENCE. 


149 


it  was  a relief  to  both,  when,  after  the  slight 
bustle  of  departure,  they  found  themselves  rid- 
ing alone  through  the  wide  green  valley. 

For  a time  neither  of  them  spoke.  The 
sun  went  down  behind  the  snowy  peaks  and 
left  the  mountains  shining  in  his  stead.  The 
nearer  slopes  grew  purple  in  the  dying  light. 
The  atmosphere  was  a golden  mist,  and  the 
awe  of  beauty  fell  upon  their  hearts. 

Presently  bringing  his  spirited  horse  to  walk 
by  the  side  of  Amy’s  gentle  steed,  Eussell 
found  courage  to  begin.  He  related  firmly,  yet 
without  daring  to  glance  towards  her  face, 
the  history  of  his  early  life,  his  love,  his  suf- 
fering, his  desolation.  He  was  about  to  con- 
tinue, fearing  to  look  before  him  at  what  he 
must  say,  when  she  suddenly  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm. 

^^Do  not  tell  me  any  more,”  she  said  im- 
patiently, her  voice  deep  and  harsh  with  the 
effort  she  made  to  speak,  I do  not  ask  to 


150 


ASPHODEL. 


know  more;  I trust  you  utterly  — if — if  you 
love  me,  that  is  all  to  me  to-night.’’ 

“ Amy,”  said  he,  seriously,  “ you  cannot 
know  what  strange  experiences  a life  like  mine 
may  involve.  From  the  time  — ” 

“ Ah,  you  do  not,  you  do  not,”  she  cried 
piteously,  or  you  would  not  make  me  suffer 
as  I do ! ” 

He  saw  it  was  impossible.  How  could  he 
tell, her  if  she  would  not  listen? 

^^Amy,”  he  said  after  a pause,  in  a low 
tone,  dare  you  give  yourself  to  one  who  has 
so  little  youth  or  joy  to  bring  you  in  return  ? 
Will  you  come  and  give  up  your  young 
life  to  me?” 

He  stopped  his  horse  as  he  spoke,  and  laid 
his  hand  upon  her  bridle.  It  was  well  he 
did  so,  for  she  flung  herself  suddenly  towards 
him,  drowning  her  answer. 

Far  away  in  the  deeps  of  our  consciousness 
lies  a power  which  rises  and  overwhelms 


PRESENCE. 


151 


the  tumultuousness  of  passion,  and  stills  our 
speech.  Sometimes  it  comes  in  music  and 
sways  us  by  inward  melody,  sometimes  the 
ecstasy  and  exaltation  of  prayer  involve  us, 
and  sometimes  we  recognize  the  voice  of  the 
Spirit  speaking  plainly  in.  us,  saying,  ‘‘  Peace, 
be  still ! ’’ 

We  cannot  tell  how  the  power  shall  sway 
another,  we  can  only  copy  the  silence  of  those 
moments,  leaving  these  indications  for  each 
one  to  interpret. 

A half-hour  later  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Yan  Ranse 
watched  from  their  terrace  the  approach  of 
the  two  riders,  as  they  cantered  briskly  up 
through  the  avenue  of  oaks.  The  fire-flies 
were  abroad,  making  almost  a network  of 
light  as  they  rode  on.  But  they  advanced 
rapidly,  and  the  happy  parents  saw  through 
the  twilight  how  Russell  lifted  Amy  like  a 
child  from  her  horse,  and  kissed  her  as  he 
placed  her  on  the  ground. 


152 


ASPHODEL. 


A moment  after,  Amy’s  blushing  face  told 
the  story  as  she  advanced  towards  them,  hold- 
ing Russell  by  the  hand,  and  he  received  the 
crowning  proof  of  the  confidence  of  his  friends 
in  the  joy  of  their  fond  greeting. 


X. 


AWAKENING. 

T S there  any  one  so  deeply  rooted  in  doubt 
with  regard  to  himself  and  his  existence 
as  to  fancy  his  life  involuted  to  such  a degree 
with  the  lives  and  thoughts  of  others  as  to 
make  him  always  an  actor  and  never  a spec- 
tator in  the  great  drama  of  the  world  ? Ask 
the  most  hurried  face  haunting  our  streets, 
or  the  mother  overladen  with  her  cares,  and, 
if  the  story  be  told  truly,  we  shall  find  that 
they  and  all  of  us  must  stop  and  look  from 
some  crag  more  solitary  than  those  that  Dante 
knew,  solitudes  where  no  Virgil  can  accom- 
pany, upon  the  surging  river  of  our  life. 

Now,  when  it  seemed  Eussell  had  at  last 
found  companionship,  he  stood  apart  from  his 
own  career  and  looked  upon  himself  and  Amy* 


7* 


154 


ASPHODEL. 


He  saw  the  happy  weeks  glide  by,  and  his 
bud  expand  under  the  new  sunshine.  He 
walked  by  her  side,  and  with  tender  devotion 
gave  her  flowers  and  gentle  words.  He  saw 
her  cherishing  but  one  thought,  the  thought 
of  him.  Then  he  wrapped  himself  in  the 
mantle  of  her  afiection,  and  said  he  had 
found  rest.  But  the  lonely  figure  in  the 
awful  distance  sent  a ghostly  voice  to  haunt 
him,  crying,  “ If  thou  art  beloved,  what  is  that 
to  thee  ? ” 

Latterly,  however,  the  sad  vision  some- 
what faded,  perhaps  because  he  was  really 
learning  to  love  Amy.  Indeed,  it  needed 
sterner  stuff  than  Russell  not  to  do  so;  and 
in  the  afternoon,  when  she  would  run  to 
greet  liim,  and  he  held  the  little  ethereal 
creature  in  his  arms,  her  light  dress  flutter- 
ing, as  if  the  bird  would  fly  if  he  did  not 
cling  to;  her,  he  felt  himself  absolutely  blest, 
and  desired  nothing  further. 


A WAKENING. 


155 


Amy  had  awakened  to  a new  existence. 
Those  cunning  Greeks,  with  their  Pygmalion 
fable,  only  gave  their  tale  a name  that  so  it 
might  float  more  securely  on  all  the  tides  of 
time.  The  delicate  color  flashed  and  faded 
on  her  cheek,  and  her  voice  in  singing  learned 
a pathos  which  only  the  power  of  Love  can 
teach.  She  would  sometimes  sing  his  songs, 
— perhaps  she  liked  them  best ; and  then  it 
might  be  that  the  tears  would  conquer,  and 
she  would  find  herself  sobbing  on  her  lover’s 
breast.  A perfect  April  in  her  changing 
moods,  Russell  at  first  could  hardly , under- 
stand her,  till  he  discovered  that  his  manner, 
oftentimes  preoccupied,  and  his  face,  with  its 
many  shadows,  were  incomprehensible  to  her 
and  filled  her  with  alarm.  Then  her  piercing 
Do  you  love  me,  Russell  ? ” restored  him  to 
his  duty  and  his  tender  ways,  until  she  smiled 
again,  and  found  no  flaw  in  his  perfection. 
Even  her  father  and  mother  were  satisfied 


156 


ASPHODEL, 


with  Russell’s  devotion  to  their  darling.  He 
returned  daily  at  an  early  hour  to  ^^The 
Eosery,”  bearing  something  new  and  beauti- 
ful to  delight  her;  every  day  he  found  it 
more  difficult,  for  his  own  sake,  to  absent 
himself,  even  for  a short  time.  Perhaps  he 
feared  a shadowy  hand  might  tear  them 
apart  forever,  and  snap  his  slender  blossom. 

It  was  late  one  night  when  Russell  was  re- 
turning to  his  lodging.  The  calmness  of  the 
hour,  and  the  stars,  drooping  and  swaying,  in 
their  apparent  nearness,  from  the  concave  sky, 
brought  him  peace,  and  gratitude  for  hi&  pres- 
ent happiness.  He  resolved  to  conquer  any 
opposition  Amy’s  parents  could  suggest,  and 
to  make  her  his  wife  as  soon  as  possible,  that 
the  old  feeling  of  home  might  come  back  to 
him  again. 

He  thought  of  his  shining  flower  as  she 
might  bloom  for  him  alone  in  some  retire- 
ment. The  new  influence  swaying  her  life 


A WAKENING. 


157 


and  developing  her  womanhood  had  so  trans- 
figured her  that  Eussell  believed  he  could 
secure  her  happiness.  He  must  claim  her 
from  her  parents  and  take  her  wholly  to  him- 
self. This  was  no  easy  task  certainly.  But 
had  they  not  given  him  their  promise? 

With  this  determination  he  entered  the 
house,  and  stirred  the  fire,  which  the  night- 
winds  made  comfortable  even  at  this  season, 
and  prepared  to  write  to  Herbert.  He  could 
advance  no  further  in  his  plans  until  he  had 
told  his  friend  everything.  The  logs  flamed 
and  sputtered  while  he  reflected  what  he 
should  write,  and  presently,  by  their  unequal 
gleam,  he  discovered  the  mail,  which  had  ar- 
rived and  been  placed  on  a side-table.  He 
lighted  a candle,  therefore,  and  hastened,  in- 
stead, to  read  his  letters.  There  was  one 
from  Erminia,  punctual  to  her  promise.  He 
broke  that  seal  first. 

^^My  friend,  — dear  Russell,’’  it  began,  ‘‘I 


158 


ASPHODEL, 


could  not  keep  your  ring,  because  I knew  not 
what  it  signified.  Its  arrival  startled  me  and 
I could  not  write.  Now  I feel  I must  speak 
with  you.  I did  not  require  a mere  proof 
of  your  esteem  and  confidence,  for  is  not  Fan- 
ny mine?  — yours  and  mine?  Did  the  ring 
mean,  then,  ^ I love  you  ’ ? 0 Russell,  I can- 

not, I dare  not  believe  it.  You  never  said  that 
to  me,  by  look  or  sign,  till  the  ring  arrived, 
and  I am  not  fitted  to  be  your  wife.  But 
my  confidence  in  you  is  so  deep  and  unshaken, 
that  I have  made  a resolution,  if  you  are  de- 
tained beyond  the  appointed  time,  to  go  to 
you  with  Fanny.  It  is  the  child’s  idea  as 
well  as  mine.  She  droops  and  fades  at  the 
thought  of  longer  separation ; and  I — I must 
speak  with  you  face  to  face,  Russell.” 

Here  the  letter  ended  abruptly.  He  sat 
still  as  stone  where  he  had  first  broken  the 
seal,  the  cold  drops  suffusing  his  forehead. 
He  neither  moved  nor  seemed  to  himself  to 


A WAKENING. 


159 


think.  Presently  the  thought  of  Erminia’s 
coming  aroused  him.  The  picture  of  her  pres- 
ence, vivid  as  reality,  advancing,  full  of  faith, 
through  Amy’s  rose-garden,  was  painted,  like 
a warning  vision,  before  his  sight.  He  looked 
and  saw  her  sad,  reposing  eyes  ; then  he  heard 
a low,  mournful  cry,  and  the  ^ scene  had  van- 
ished. Pressing  his  hands  upon  his  head, 
to  assure  himself  that  he  was  awake,  he 
murmured,  “ She  shall  not  come ! Heaven 
forbid  her  coming ! ” Snatching  a pen,  he 
wrote  hurriedly,  ‘‘  Erminia,  do  not  leave  ‘ The 
Cliff.’  Comfort  Fanny ; but  tell  her  she  must 
not  follow  me.  Do  not  come,  do  not  follow, 
but  wait.” 

That  was  all.  Then  he  rushed  out  to  speed 
the  missive  on  its  way.  Wandering  long, 
after  his  errand  was  accomplished,  under  the 
clear,  mild  sky,  he  passed  suddenly  beyond 
the  rows  of  tall  stone  houses  into  the  wil- 
derness of  the  hills.  The  late  moon  hung 


160 


ASPHODEL. 


pale  and  waning,  a symbol  of  departed  joys, 
above  his  head,  and  in  the  far  east  he  saw, 
before  he  was  aware,  a dim  and  languid  line 
of  light.  He  returned  to  his  lodging  at  that 
sign,  as  if  the  finger  of  day  shamed  his  dark 
spirit.  Although  he  lay  down  utterly  ex- 
hausted when  he  arrived,  he  could  not  sleep ; 
spectres  with  sad,  loving  eyes,  and  forms  he 
knew  only  too  well,  crowded  around  his 
couch,  crying,  “ No  sleep,  no  rest ! ” 

At  length  the  dawn  was  unveiled,  leading 
in  the  day  without  a cloud.  How  those 
sleepless  eyes  longed  for  the  dim,  shrouding 
mists  of  his  native  shore.  He  could  not  bear 
the  glaring  eye  of  the  sun.  Each  ray  seemed 
to  burn  the  wrong  he  had  done,  in  upon  his 
soul.  He  must  arise  and  put  all  thought 
of  Erminia,  as  he  had  put  all  hope,  behind 
him.  She  was  no  longer  to  companion  his 
quiet  hours.  He  must  see  his  lily  from  afar, 
abloom  in  other  gardens,  prodigal  of  perfume 
for  the  purified. 


A WAKENING. 


161 


\ He  only  repeated  the  sad  old  words,  It 
might  have  been”;  — then  with  deep  lines 
upon  his  face  he  walked  out  to  gather  strength 
from  the  day,  if  possible,  for  the  work  which 
lay  before  him.  He  must  do  it  quickly  now, 
that,  when  there  was  no  undoing,  he  should 
be  able  to  return  and  carry  Amy  to  his  friends, 
and  let  her  presence  tell  them  all  that  was 
needful  to  be  said. 

But  he  feared  to  think  of  her  at  “ The 
Cliff.”  It  was  like  fancying  one  of  her  own 
fawns  shut  away  from  the  free  range  of  the 
park;  or  to  picture  her  in  his  own  lonely 
house,  with  Fanny,  with  the  library,  and  the 
sighing  of  the  yellow  pines  for  sole  companions 
during  many  hours  of  each  day ; — that  was 
equally  impossible.  What  would  his  little 
butterfly  do  but  beat  and  bruise  her  wings 
in  such  a solitude  ! It  was  not  to  be  thought 
of.  Beside,  could  he  take  this  darling  of  their 
eyes  away  from  her  parents,  and  leave  them 


K 


162 


ASPHODEL. 


desolate  in  their  exile?  No;  he  must  stay 
with  them  for  a few  months,  when,  haply, 
it  would  be  possible  for  them  all  to  return 
together.  In  the  mean  time  he  must  write 
to  Herbert,  to  Alice,  and  — to  Erminia.  He 
repeated  the  words,  as  if  dreaming,  “ to  Er- 
minia.’^ 

I need  not  write  either  to-day  or  to-morrow, 
— not  until  Amy  is  mine,”  Russell  thought. 
He  had  done  his  best,  and  had  written,  telling 
Erminia  not  to  come.  Now  all  was  safe,  and 
he  could  put  away  anxiety  with  regard  to  her 
movements.  If  he  had  proved  himself  un- 
worthy of  her  devotion.  Amy  loved  him  well, 
and  would  forgive  him  when  the  time  came 
for  explanation.-  He  could  not  be  unhappy 
with  these  thoughts  now ; it  was  time  to  go  to 
‘‘  The  Rosery.”  But  a voice  whispered.  Have 
you  so  soon  forgiven  yourself  ? 

The  passing  days  and  weeks,  each  a jewel 
in  the  circlet  of  the  loving  one,  crowned 


A WAKENING, 


163 


Amy  with  new  brilliance.  Her  parents  moved 
before  her,  as  it  were,  to  put  aside  every  thorn 
and  make  her  every  path  a way  of  flowers. 
Her  wish  was  theirs.  Therefore,  when  one 
night  she  whispered  to  them,  Russell  says 
when  the  next  moon  is  grown  he  shall  claim 
me,”  they  did  not  wonder  at  his  haste,  but 
gave  her  generously. 

And  again  the  days  revolved,  and  brought 
the  two  — youth  and  maturity,  rapture  and 
desire  — before  the  awful  gate  of  marriage. 
For  her,  the  gate  was  built  of  flowers,  rising 
and  winding  to  a lofty  arch.  She  would  keep 
them  always  fresh,  wreathed  with  bright  new 
buds ! But  Russell  shuddered,  knowing  the 
iron  limitations  of  that  way,  and  bowed  his 
head,  stooping  in  sign  of  humility  and  rever- 
ence as  he  passed  through. 


XI. 


COURAGE. 

OEE,  mamma,  he  has  taken  the  biscuit 
right  out  of  my  hand,”  Ernest  ex- 
claimed, the  color  flaming  in  his  clear  bright 
cheeks ; but  see.  Ally,  she ’s  afraid ! Why, 
the  deer  would  take  it  right  out  of  her  hand, 
too,  if  she  were  n’t  so  frightened.” 

Alice  and  Erminia  walked  together  past  the 
deer-park  in  the  city  garden,  watching  the  en- 
deavors of  poor  Ally  to  find  heart  to  let  the 
creature  put  his  big  nose  so  near  her  little 
hand,  while  Ernest  exulted  over  her  and  thrust 
his  arm,  full  length,  between  the  palings. 

“ There  is  a good  contrast,”  remarked  Alice, 
‘^between  bravery  and  courage,  in  those  chil- 
dren. Where  the  latter  is  needed  Ally  is 
strong.  ‘ I wish  I could  feel  as  sure  of  Er- 
nest.” 


COURAGE. 


165 


And  wliile  the  children  amused  themselves 
with  the  deer,  the  two  friends  strolled  on. 
Presently  espying  a touch  of  white  like  a snow- 
flake among  the  greening  grass,  Erminia  knelt 
down  to  look  more  closely.  Alice,’’  she 
exclaimed  ; “ wq  have  lived  through  our  win- 
ter! ” And  as  she  spoke  she  smiled  upon 
her  friend,  who  felt  the  look  a benediction. 

He  whose  face  gives  no  light  shall  never  become  a star.” 

They  took  this  snowdrop  as  the  signal  for 
their  departure  from  the  town,  where,  al- 
though many  friends  and  pleasant  neighbors 
urged  them  to  remain,  their  household  rest 
beckoned  them  away,  with  desire  not  to  be 
resisted.  They  longed  to  follow  the  footsteps 
of  the  spring,  and  to  give  themselves  more  en- 
tirely to  the  children,  and  to  lead  them  again 
to  Nature. 

This  had  been  Alice’s  first  experience  of 
the  irreligion  of  the  city  with  regard  to  chil- 
dren. These  heaven-taught  democrats  she 


166 


ASPHODEL. 


saw  clad,  by  ambitious  parents,  in  velvet 
frocks,  and  taught  to  become  respecters  of 
persons.’’  Holy  Paul  did  not  speak  of  dis- 
respecters  of  persons ; but  where  respect  is 
paid  to  worldly  distinction,  the  converse — dis- 
respect — is  shown  to  the  lack  of  it,  and  thus 
an  irreligion  is  instilled  which  finds  its  daily 
expression  in  bad  manners. 

She  was  inexpressibly  shocked  by  what  is 
fitly  styled  the  ‘^bad  breeding”  of  many 
children  whose  parents  were  quite  able  to 
guide  them  differently,  if  they  did  not  allow 
themselves  to  be  absorbed  in  fashionable  la- 
bors for  Kansas,  Port  Eoyal,  or  Timbuctoo 
(for  we  would  not  quarrel  with  any  form  of 
charity),  or,  what  is  still  more  degrading,  in 
fashionable  labors  for  society’s  sake  simply. 
They  told  Alice  they  feared  their  children 
could  not  have  companions  or  ‘‘  desirable  ac- 
quaintances” enough  if  they  educated  them 
by  themselves.  She  did  not  reply  to  these 


COURAGE, 


167 


remarks,  but  when  she  returned  to  Erminia 
they  talked  them  over  together. 

“ Any  way,  I can  do  something  by  example,’’ 
she  said  one  day,  half-despairingly.  I could 
n’t  bear  to  hear  them  talk  so,  but  what  good 
would  discussion  do?  Let  us  take  our  chil- 
dren and  return  to  ^ The  Cliff.’  What  they 
need  is  health  and  development,  and  to  find 
res-ources  for  themselves,  not  excitement.  As 
for  friendship,  children  of  eight,  ten,  and 
twelve  do  not  understand  the  word  as  we 
find  it  diluted  here.  It  is  something  quite 
different  from  the  rapturous  affection  Fanny 
holds  for  Ernest  and  Ally  and  they  for  her. 
To  be  sure,  the  innocence  of  children  sweet- 
ens everything,  even  baby  parties;  but  I do 
not  see  what  is  gained  by  three  afternoon 
routs  a week,  except  the  increased  danger  of 
losing  their  precious  jewels  of  simplicity  and 
unconsciousness.  I think  our  children  will 
neither  learn  to  become  unsocial  nor  selfish/’ 


168 


ASPHODEL. 


and  Alice  smiled  at  the  thought.  ‘^It  was 
-delightful  to  see  Hettie  and  Charlie  rush  out 
of  the  house  as  I went  through  the  village 
last  week,  on  my  way  to  ^The  Cliff.’  They 
thought  our  children  had  come,  and  their 
happiness  knew  no  bounds.” 

“ How  glad  I shall  be  to  see  them  again,” 
said  Erminia.  Yet  as  she  spoke  a swift 
shadow,  like  those  that  sheet  the  “windy 
gleams”  of  March,  overspread  her  face.  She 
felt  it  would  be  hard  to  live  once  more 
where  every  spot  was  haunted  by  vanished 
footsteps. 

“ Yes,  indeed!”  and  Alice  answered  without 
one  reservation.  “ Our  schools  in  the  village, 
both  on  Sunday  and  Wednesday,  repay  us  for 
our  trouble  admirably.  I suppose  this  town 
experience  has  been  good,  dear;  it  is  almost 
nothing  but  pleasure  to  teach  at  home.  The 
children  there  are  cleanly  and  curious  to  learn. 
Here  the  terrible  poverty  and  degradation  seem 


COURAGE, 


169 


to  fix  a gulf  between  us.  Alas  that  it  should 
be  so ! What  a sin  if  we  suffer  this  fleshly 
soiling  to  divide  soul  from  soul ! When  we 
all  wear  the  purified  garments  of  eternity, 
some  who  appear  fair  here  must  be  bidden 
to  the  lowest  place.’’ 

Yes ; but  I believe  this  labor  has  nearly 
overpowered  me.  I long  now  for  ‘ The  Cliff.’  ” 
And  Erminia  spoke  with  such  a sad,  worn 
manner,  that  Alice  looked  up  surprised.  She 
wondered  that  she  had  not  observed  before 
how  much  Erminia  needed  change  and  the 
freedom  of  her  old  life.  Her  face  was  very 
pale,  and  the  sorrowful  drooping  lines  about 
the  mouth  were  unrelieved  by  any  smile. 

. We  will  return  to-morrow,  dear.  ’T  is 
no  matter  if  the  place  is  not  quite  ready. 
Everything  will  go  on  the  better  for  a little 
supervision.  We  will  send  the  maids  early, 
and  we  ourselves  will  arrive  at  sundown.” 
She  looked  up  as  she  spoke,  hoping  to  catch 


8 


170 


ASPHODEL, 


Erminia’s  smile,  but  the  sad  face  seemed  un- 
conscious of  her  words,  like  one  listening  to 
voices  others  could  not  hear. 

Alice  did  not  know  Russell  had  written  to 
Erminia.  The  story  of  the  ring  could  be 
divulged  to  no  one,  not  even  to  her  friend. 

I*  must  bear  it  alone,’’  she  said  to  herself. 
Therefore  the  ring  came  and  went,  and  the 
letter  followed,  while  Alice  marvelled  that 
Russell  wrote  so  seldom,  and  hastened  back 
to  “ The  Cliff”  partly  because  she  anticipated 
his  speedy  return.  Erminia  did  not  undeceive 
her.  His  name  never  passed  her  lips  except 
to  Fanny,  and  then  in  a manner  the  child 
could  not  comprehend,  as  though  necessity 
compelled  it.  Sometimes  at  night,  after  she 
had  kissed  the  downy  little  cheek  and  tucked 
her  charge  well  into  her  snug  bed,  she  would 
say,  There  has  been  news  from  your  papa 
to-day,  Fanny;  he  is  well,  and  sends  a kiss 
to  you,  his  darling.” 


COURAGE, 


171 


‘‘  Is  he  coming  home  soon  ? ” the  child 
would  respond  quickly. 

^^He  does  not  say  so,  dear.’’ 

‘‘  Then  we  will  go  to  him.  Will  you  write 
him  a good  letter,  and  say  that  we  will 
come  ? ” 

One  night,  the  child  becoming  inconsolable 
at  her  father’s  long  absence,  Erminia  could 
not  soothe  her  to  sleep  until  she  had  half 
confessed  her  own  determination,  and  promised 
to  go,  if,  after  writing,  no  message  were  re- 
turned  in  answer  which  should  prevent  them. 

Alice  was  right.  They  were  all  happier  at 
The  Cliff.”  For  herself,  who  knew  the 
birds  as  they  came  with  every  succeeding  day 
and  week  of  the  opening  spring,  absence  was 
a continued  homesickness,  a separation  from 
good  friends.  She  wished  her  children  to 
find  where  the  first  hepatica  hid  itself,  and 
to  watch  the  buds  of  ash  and  willow,  beech 
and  birch,  in  their  unfolding.  For  Er- 


172 


ASPHODEL, 


minia,  whose  happiness  as  well  as  sadness 
lingered  around  the  place.  Nature  stood,  as 
ever,  ready  with  a tenderness  which  seemed 
full  of  sympathy  for  her  tired  heart  and  the 
smothered  fire  which  consumed  her. 

But  this  repose  was  not  long  to  be  theirs. 
It  was  only  to  them,  what  it  should  ever 
be  in  this  fleeting  experience  we  call  life,  a 
period  when  we  hold  ourselves  ready  to  an- 
swer the  calling  for  which  we  are  ordained, 
a pause,  a gathering  of  the  forces  and  a 
clearing  of  the  vision,  that  we  may  see  how 
poor  is  our  own  power,  how  mighty  the 
spirit  of  God  working  within  us. 

Therefore  it  was,  one  day,  when  Alice  went 
to  Herbert  because  he  needed  her,  and  went 
she  knew  not  precisely  whither^  that  she  de- 
parted calmly,  girded  with  true  courage,  for 
she  stood  like  the  virgins  of  old,  with  her 
lamp  trimmed  and  burning. 

When  Alice  departed,  Fanny  watched  the 


COURAGE, 


173 


carriage  quite  out  of  sight,  and  then  turned 
to  Erminia,  her  eyes  .filled  with  tears. 

Kiss  me,  please,’’  she  whispered,  as  her 
beloved  companion  pressed  her  close,  ^^kiss 
me  and  comfort  me  a great  deal,  for  Aunt 
Alice  has  gone  now,  and  Uncle  Herbert,  and 
dear  papa,  and  we  are  very  lonely,  and  must 
love  each  other  very  dearly.  I thought  we 
should  go  to  papa  soon ; but  we  cannot  leave 
Ally  and  Ernest,  can  we,  darling?  We  must 
wait  till  Aunt  Alice  comes  back.” 

Erminia  caught  Fanny  in  her  arms  and 
felt  herself  comforted  as  she  embraced  her. 
How  like  Edith’s  heavenly  self-denial  was  this 
child’s  thoughtfulness  for  others,  in  spite  of 
the  one  absorbing  desire  to  follow  her  father ! 
How  like  Russell  was  that  tender,  passionate 
expression  of  grief  and  disappointment! 

The  silent  days  moved  past,  leaving  the 
diminished  household  like  a ship  becalmed. 
No  breath  of  news  came  to  waft  them  into 


174 


ASPHODEL. 


the  port  of  hope,  until  at  length  a word  of 
cheer  came  back  from  Alice ; and  before  late 
violets  had  departed  another  carriage  slowly 
advanced  towards  the  house,  and  Herbert’s 
room  was  again  thrown  open.  There  he 
entered  and  lay  through  the  ripening  spring 
and  the  perfecting  summer,  utterly  calm  and 
content. 

‘^1  feel  that  I should  never  have  returned, 
except  for  her,”  he  said  one  day  to  Erminia, 
glancing,  as  he  spoke,  towards  his  wife. 

Alice  seeing  the  look,  and  fancying  he 
wished  her,  came  towards  them,  and  Herbert 
said  no  more  upon  the  subject  then ; but  once, 
when  she  was  away  with  the  children,  he  took 
occasion  to  recount  to  Erminia  the  long  story 
of  her  wanderings  and  endeavors  in  his  be- 
half. 

‘‘  She  suffered  so  much,”  he  continued, 

from  anxiety  and  the  terrible  scenes  she 
passed  through,  that  I do  not  like  to  recall 


COURAGE. 


175 


the  incidents  to  her  mind;  for  the  grief  of 
earth  passes  and  does  not  touch  our  immor- 
talities, except  as  purification,  but  the  beauty 
of  life  is  tarnished  when  we  suffer  ourselves 
to  dwell  on  the  obscurities  of  pain.” 

The  winds  of  spring  were  at  last  lulled  into 
the  sighing  breath  of  summer ; the  sun  lin- 
gered westward  and  blossomed  early  in  the 
east  once  more,  and  brought  the  infinite  magic 
of  midsummer,  with  his  lengthened  presence. 
The  joyousness  of  Alice  lay  deep  and  pure 
within  her,  a quiet  sea  where  the  heavens 
were  reflected,  an  unending  fountain  of  peace 
and  happiness  for  others.  was  born  for 
this,”  she  would  say,  to  bring  sunshine ; 
I feel  sure  of  it,  for  the  light  shines  even 
when  I have  cause  to  be  most  sad.” 

That  household  calm  and  never-failing  uni- 
son of  Nature  jarred  on  the  unresting  heart 
of  Erminia.  She  had  written  to  Russell  she 


176 


ASPHODEL. 


should  sail  with  Fanny  if  no  answer  came. 
Was  he  not  already  awaiting  them?  The 
idea  haunted  her.  When  she  walked  and 
watched  the  sea,  the  waves  told  her  they 
had  left  him  lingering  on  that  other  shore, 
and  their  restless  feet  returnmg  and  return- 
ing ever,  with  the  same  low  murmur  urged 
her  to  depart.  “ He  will  not  write ; he  waits, 
he  waits ! ” Then  first  she  knew  the  sickness 
of  irresolution.  The  wavering  lights  which 
beckoned  her,  changed  sometimes,  as  she  rose 
to  follow,  into  marish  deceit.  She  would  walk 
then  and  pray  upon  the  sands,  and  ask  for 
guidance,  imtil  new  strength  would  arise  with- 
in her.  One  day,  as  a wild  sea-gull  darted 
through  the  thick  mist  and  flew  with  strong, 
determined  wing  far  over  the  waves,  where 
no  eye  could  pierce  his  distant  course,  Er- 
minia  said,  “ The  bird  shall  be  my  emblem. 
I will  take  the  child  and  follow.  Shall  not 
a mustard-seed  of  faith  bear  me  even  as  the 
sca-winds  bear  the  bird  ? ” 


COURAGE, 


177 


When  evening  came,  she  knocked  at  Her- 
bert’s door.  She  knew  Alice  was  by  his  side, 
and  it  would  be  better,  she  believed,  to  tell 
them  of  her  determination,  as  they  sat  to- 
gether, rather  than  expose  herself  alone  to 
Alice’s  frank  questioning  or  manifest  disap- 
proval. It  was  a difficult  task.  She  felt 
herself  grow  cold  as  she  touched  the  handle. 
But  her  resolve  was  perfect. 

‘‘1  have  come  to  tell  you,”  she  said,  after 
a few  words  had  been  exchanged  and  when 
the  first  pause  gave  opportunity,  “ that  I have 
decided  to  take  Fanny  to  her  father.  He  has 
been  detained,  as  you  know,  beyond  his  in- 
tended absence  and  the  child  mourns  for  him. 
The  voyage  may  benefit  her  health  somewhat, 
even  though  we  should  return  immediately. 
Beside,”  she  added  slowly,  in  a clear  low  voice, 
a slight  blush  staining  her  brow  for  an  instant, 
“ he  has  written  to  me  upon  a personal  matter 
once  since  his  absence,  to  which  I can  only 


8* 


178 


ASPHODEL. 


answer  fitly  face  to  face.  Therefore  I con- 
fess,” she  said,  looking  up  for  the  first  time 
with  a gentle  smile,  “ that  I am  going  to  Eus- 
sell  as  well  as  Fanny.” 

Herbert  was  lying  on  the  couch  as  she  en- 
tered, his  face  turned  towards  the  window ; 
for,  although  it  was  quite  dark,  he  liked  to 
watch  the  glimmer  of  the  light-house  return- 
ing through  the  mist,  and  listen  to  the  low- 
voiced women  as  they  were  accustomed  to  sit 
and  talk  beside  him.  But  to-night  there  was 
something  in  Erminia’s  tone  which  caused 
him  to  turn  towards  her  when  she  first 
began  to  speak,  and  before  she  ended  he 
was  leaning  forward,  reclining  on  his  hand 
with  a look  of  anxious  wonder. 

She  was  silent  a moment,  and  no  one  broke 
the  stillness.  Presently  she  added,  ‘‘  You  are 
nearer  to  me  than  any  the  earth  holds,  there- 
fore I wish  to  tell  you  what  there  is  to  tell. 
I do  not  go  with  any  definite  plan  for  myself; 
I wish  to  understand  him  more  clearly.” 


COURAGE, 


179 


‘‘  Erminia/^  said  Alice,  her  womanly  in- 
stinct rising  in  revolt,  do  not  go  ! ” And 
her  voice  pleaded  so  earnestly  in  the  words 
that  Erminia  rose  and  walked  across  the  room, 
as  if  to  break  the  force  of  the  appeal.  Then 
she  returned  and  stood  before  Herbert. 

“ May  I go  ? she  asked  with  a strange 
mixture  of  imperiousness  and  childish  im- 
petuosity. ‘‘  It  rests  with  you  more  than  with 
Alice.  Russell  is  your  friend.  If  he  is  a 
man  of  honor  tell  me  now  to  go.” 

The  sick  man  fairly  quailed  before  her  in- 
tensity. Her  eyes  burned  as  she  fixed  them 
eagerly  upon  him,  trying  to  read  his  answer 
by  the  lightning  of  a look  before  the  words 
could  come. 

^^You  are  a woman,”  he  said,  after  a mo- 
ment’s hesitation,  capable  of  deciding  upon 
this  matter  better  than  we  are  able  to  do, 
who  cannot  entirely  understand  the  reasons 
for  your  departure.  We  shall  not  question 


180 


ASPHODEL. 


your  decision.  Russell  is  a man  of  honor, 
and  you  our  household  friend  and  compan- 
ion. We  do  not  lose  you  willingly,  but  we 
will  not  keep  you,  Erminia.” 

Again  the  color  flashed  over  her  fair  face 
and  tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  She  anticipated 
struggle,  opposition,  and  remonstrance.  But 
this  loving  confidence  seemed  more  than  she 
could  bear.  She  sank  slowly  down,  buried 
her  head  upon  the  couch,  and  wept  convul- 
sively. 


XII. 


THE  VOYAGE. 

T^ANNY  stood  with  her  arms  about  her 
friend,  and  both  looked  silently  back 
upon  the  pier.  There  was  no  friendly  face 
to  -say  farewell ; their  eyes  were  fixed  be- 
yond, and  their  hearts  were  away  with  the 
dear  ones  they  had  left.  Erminia  was  ab- 
sorbed in  gazing  on  the  vision  of  the  past, 
but  the  child  came  between  her  and  it,  flash- 

f 

ing  the  joy  of  youth  and  the  magic  of  the 
present  over  its  vanishing  pictures.  When 
the  shore  had  at  last  faded  to  a line,  she 
took  Fanny  by  the  hand,  and  turned  bravely 
towards  her  future. 

They  had  many  companions  in  their  voyage, 
many  who  liked  to  talk  and  question  and 
while  the  hours  away  in  harmless  speculation 


182 


ASPHODEL. 


upon  the  affairs  of  their  fellow-travellers,  upon 
their  position  and  purpose  and  relation  to  the 
world.  Although  they  desired  to  shun  ob- 
servation as  far  as  possible,  the  sweet  grace 
which  marked  Erminia  and  the  nestling  love 
of  Fanny  did  not  suffer  them  to  escape  com- 
ment. The  two  were  almost  inseparable,  for 
one  purpose  and  one  interest  served  to  beacon 
and  absorb  both ; and  while  the  favoring  winds 
blew  the  ship  lightly  on  her  way,  Erminia 
merged  all  shadows  in  the  light  which  was 
to  come,  and  talked  with  Fanny  of  her  father 
through  long  afternoons  till  the  child’s  face 
grew  radiant.  Her  very  eyes  drank  into 
themselves  something  of  Erminia’ s beauty, 
as  if  the  woman  breathed  upon  her  living 
form  as  the  prophet  did  upon  the  dead,  of 
old.  Once  it  happened,  when  the  winds  were 
cold  and  she  had  sent  her  little  companion 
below  for  thick  shawls,  a fellow-voyager  came 
and  talked  with  her  about  ^^her  child,’’  and 


THE  VOYAGE, 


183 


said  how  strong  the  likeness  was  between  the 
two,  and  asked  the  age  of  Fanny.  Erminia, 
careless  of  his  words,  answered  his  question 
kindly,  but  found  no  voice  to  say,  She  is 
not  mine.’’ 

Thus  the  days  fled  with  them  until  they  too 
sailed  upon  Pacific  seas.  How  like  the  calm 
of  passion  glimmered  those  pure  depths ! Er- 
minia would  hang  in  happy  silence,  gazing, 
and  rocked  in  peace  by  the  long,  placid 
waves ; feeling  herself  upborne  like  the  snowy 
birds  around  her,  yet  never  careless  in  her 
flight  as  they.  She  was  centred  and  at  rest ; 
resting  in  a light  of  which  this  glory  was  but 
a dim  foreshadowing,  since  nature  can  but 
feed  the  fire  of  love  and  be  its  wide  expression. 

“ Tell  me  what  it  means,”  the  child  would 
say  in  wonder  as  she  looked  upon  the  un- 
known sea.  Then  Erminia  told  her  the  story 
of  the  fragrant  winds;  how  they  came  from 
afar,  where  the  glowing  islands  lie  waving 


184 


ASPHODEL. 


with  trees  of*  spice  which  fling  thein  heavy 
perfumes  out  upon  the  moveless  air ; and 
how  the  breezes  come  and  fetch  away  the 
odors,  and  bring  them  in  their  gentle  arms 
to  wave  them  “over  sailing  ships’’  toward  the 
western  shore. 

But  the  mystery  of  this  new  beauty  re- 
mained forever  unexplained  to  her  young 
listener,  who  would  sit  while  hours  bloomed 
and  faded  to  hear  the  legends  of  the  Orient 
seas ; of  the  purple  islands  rising  from  the 
deep ; of  springing  palms  unfolding  to  the  sun ; 
of  coral  beds  glistening  with  red  and  pink, 
that  yesterday  were  not,  and  to-day  gladden 
the  eyes  of  wanderers,  in  those  unknown, 
mysterious  waters. 

Nor  was  that  other  tale  forgotten,  wild  and 
sad,  of  a marble  city,  with  its  carven  spires 
and  solemn  chiming  bells,  that  rose  and  blos- 
somed into  beauty  and  grew  in  mystic  grace, 
until  the  silent  waves  arose  transparent  and 


THE  VOYAGE. 


185 


drew  it  down  into  crystal  deeps,  while  the 
solemn  bells  still  chimed.  And  even  now 
the  brave  adventurer,  it  is  said,  can  discover 
those  glimmering  spires  shining  like  shafts 
of  opal  beneath  the  ocean  floor. 

And  the  child  replied : “ Shall  we  also  seek 
that  city  after  we  have  found  my  father, — 
we  three  ? ’’ 

And  while  she  told  the  legends  which  in- 
vest those  gorgeous  seas,  and  the  sunsets 
stained  the  watery  world  with  brilliance  such 
as  they  had  never  before  known,  the  glowing 

■Vi 

light  of  hope  and  love  beamed  upon  Fanny’s 
life,  making  each  tale  more  glorious,  each 
vision  more  divine.  This  inexpressible  lustre 
seemed  to  irradiate  itself  from  Erminia  over 
the  being  of  her  charge  while  they  stood 
together  as  if  enfolded  by  one  great  joy. 

Again  the  circling  days  die  into  happy 
nights,  and  with  the  blush  of  a new  morning 


186 


ASPHODEL. 


the  stately  ship  lifts  her  head  joyfully  as  she 
comes  into  her  port.  The  crowded  pier 
glitters  with  shifting  colors ; many  men  of 
many  races  hurry  to  and  fro,  but  all  is  weird 
and  strange  to  the  pair  who  stand  and  wait.’* 
Erminia  smiles  at  the  thought  that  she  ex- 
pected Eussell  here,  for  how  should  he  know 
they  had  come ; but  Fanny  cries,  “ Papa,  papa, 
where  are  you  ? ” and  one  fellow-passenger  as 
he  passes  them  asks  if  he  can  serve  them, 
and  another  if  he  can  help  her  find  her 
husband,  while  she  stands  irresolute,  unre- 
garding what  they  say,  as  if  listening  for 
one  voice,  her  only  compass. 

It  was  too  late  to  listen  now.  The  voice 
expressed  within  a little  folded  sheet  was  hid- 
den where  she  would  never  see  it,  — on  the 
door-way  of  their  deserted  city  home.  She 
must  go  on  blindly ; there  was  no  light,  no 
guide  to  beckon ; they  were  children  together, 
gone  astray. 


XIII. 


A FESTIVAL. 

There  are  festivals  of  life  and  of  death. 

T T OW  beautiful  was  that  summer  morning 
at  ^‘The  Rosery!”  Amy  awoke  with 
the  early  waking  birds,  and  her  heart  sang 
with  them.  She  said,  To-day  he  comes  and 
will  go  away  no  more.”  She  knew  no  fear, 
pet  of  fortune  that  she  was,  nor  even  what 
to  fear.  Everybody’s  darling,  she  did  not  find 
it  strange  Russell  should  love  her ! She  ac- . 
cepted  it  simply  as  the  rounding  of  the  sphere 
of  her  life’s  happiness. 

The  hours  of  the  morning  passed,  every 
moment  leaving  its  record  on  her  quickened 
consciousness  of  beauty  and  of  gladness.  For 
the  culminations  of  joy  and  sorrow  teach  us 
what  is  eternity,  as  labor  or  as  speech  can 


188 


ASPHODEL, 


never  do.  When  at  length  the  symbolic  robe 
of  white  fluttered  about  her,  the  maid  who 
placed  the  crown  of  blossoms  said,  She  had 
served  many  brides,  but  never  one  who  held 
the  flowers  for  her  with  so  steady  a hand.’’ 
And  they  were  hardly  arranged  before  Eussell 
came,  pale  and  nervous.  The  shadowy  days 
that  lay  behind  had  brought  their  spectres 
up  till  he  felt  unequal  to  his  fate ; they 
would  not  let  him  sleep  of  late,  and  the  dark 
finger  of  unrest  had  drawn  black  lines  be- 
neath his  eyes.  Therefore  he  came  early, 
earlier  than  even  Amy  looked  for  him,  and 
at  last  grew  quiet  under  her  petting  ways. 

She  was  like  her  old  sweet  self.  The  air 
of  happiness,  often  intoxicating  to  others,  was 
native  strength  to  her,  and  now'  all  anxiety, 
all  pain  was  gone,  — for  what  could  touch 
her  furtherj  The  little  household  caught 
the  contagion  of  her  spirit  and  became  calm 
and  cloudless  as  the  afternoon  itself  before 
the  wedding  guests  arrived. 


A FESTIVAL. 


189 


Through  the  long  hours  of  that  day,  bril- 
liant with  a sky  burned  to  deep  lustre  through 

long  cloudless  weeks,  nature  was  at  rest,  save 
{ 

for  the  throbbing  of  the  heated  airs  like  the 
earth’s  visible  pulse.  But  our  wanderers 
rested  not.  Unwearyingly  they  searched  the 
wide,  strange  city  for  one  who  was  their  world. 
They  forgot  fatigue,  and  when  at  last  they 
found  a person  who  could  show  them  where 
he  lived,  they  were  excited  by  a new  fire  of 
anticipation  which  made  the  former  hours 
look  pale.  It  was  already  noon  before  they 
reached  the  dwelling.  They  passed  the  porter 
swiftly,  as  they  entered,  asking  with  eagerness 
for  the  master  of  the  house.  A kind  face 
presented  itself  in  answer,  but  glanced  un- 
easily upon  them,  as  Erminia  made  her  in- 
quiry. It  was  not  possible  to  mistake  Fanny ; 
she  was  his  child ; — and  the  lady  ? Yet  the 
man  answered  kindly,  saying  this  had  formerly 
been  the  home  of  the  gentleman  she  men 


190 


ASPHODEL. 


tioned,  and  his  books  yet  remained,  although 
his  guest  had  gone.  He  was  about  to  live  out 
of  the  city ; but,  if  the  lady  would  wait  and 
dine,  he  would  send  a messenger  to  fetch  him. 

“No,”  said  Erminia  gently,  “I  thank  you, 
but,  if  you  please,  we  will  refresh  ourselves 
for  an  hour  and  then  go  to  him.  Will  you 
have  the  horses  ready  in  that  time  ? ” 

The  man  led  the  way  as  she  spoke  towards 
Russell’s  apartment,  now  deserted,  and,  having 
ushered  them  in,  bowed  in  silence  and  retired. 
In  a moment  he  returned. 

“ May  I not  send  for  your  friend  while  you 
rest  here?”  he  inquired  once  more,  “you  — 
you  will  find  the  drive  fatiguing,  perhaps.” 

“ No,  thank  you,”  said  Erminia  again 
brightly,  “we  shall  prefer  to  go.  We  are 
not  at  all  fatigued.” 

She  spoke  the  truth,  for,  when  the  man 
re-opened  the  door,  he  thought  he  had  seldom 
seen  a more  refreshing  picture.  A little  worn 


A FESTIVAL. 


191 


copy  of  Dante  lay  upon  the  floor,  which  he 
had  often  seen  in  the  pocket  of  the  poet. 
This  the  child  had  espied,  and  was  in  the 
very  act  of  catching  up  and  kissing  it  when 
the  lady  turned  the  loving  face  up  to  he^ 
as  if  she  too  would  kiss  something  of  his, 
and  had  only  been  prevented  by  that  sudden 
re-entrance. 

Asking  pardon  for  having  disturbed  them, 
he  again  shut  the  door.  He  had  done  his 
best  to  clog  the  wheels  of  destiny,  but  he 
found  himself  involved  instead  in  their  swift 
and  perilous  course. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  before  they  were  on 
their  way,  the  good  man  of  the  house  him- 
self accompanying  them.  Although  he  had 
made  the  best  speed  possible,  the  difficulty 
of  procuring  any  vehicle  seemed  at  first  to  be 
insurmountable . 

“ There  is  to  be  a wedding  this  afternoon,” 
he  remarked,  by  way  of  apology,  as  he  opened 


192 


ASPHODEL. 


the  carriage  door,  “ and  all  the  good  carriages 
have  gone.” 

“ This  will  do,”  said  Erminia,-  as  Fanny- 
followed  her  lightly  into  it,  “ if  the  horses 
will  not  linger.’’ 

She  did  not  observe  the  uneasy  look  of  the 
man  as  he  sprung  up  to  his  seat.  She  only 
knew  that  his  horses  flew  over  the  road,  and 
that  he  urged  them  on  to  their  fullest  speed. 

The  sea-breeze  fanned  her  lovely  hair  as 
they  drove.  Fanny  kissed  her  and  said,  ‘‘  How 
beautiful  you  are ! I remember  papa  likes 
beautiful  persons.” 

A color  like  pink  sea-shells  shone  on  her 
cheeks,  and  the  long  white  plumes  of  her 
hat  were  lifted  in  the  breeze,  and  her  heavy 
blue  dress  seemed  no  longer  close  and  warm, 
but  cool  and  fitting  for  the  time.  She  was 
glad  that  Fanny  thought  her  beautiful  ! 
Would  he  think  so  too? 

Still  they  drove  onward ; the  country  be- 


A FESTIVAL. 


193 


came  more  wild  and  the  hills  drew  nearer 
on  either  hand.  “ Do  you  know  how  far  it 
is  ? ” she  asked  by  and  by,  with  a shadow 
of  anxiety  in  her  voice,  as  the  level  rays  of 
the  sun  warned  them  of  his  departure. 

‘‘1  thought  I was  near  it  long  ago,”  said 
the  man  doubtfully.  “ I ’m  afraid  we ’ve 
passed  it.  I ’m  sorry,  for  I wanted  you  to 
get  there  soon.” 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  his  horses,  and,  see- 
ing something  which  at  last  he  recognized, 
they  drove  in  another  direction  till  the  sun 
had  fairly  set.  Then  suddenly  he  stopped. 

“ There ’s  the  house  where  he  is,  I believe, 
over  there ; but  they  Ve  got  company,  and 
the  avenue  is  filled  with  carriages.  Suppose 
I stop  here  by  this  grove  while  you  walk  up 
by  the  footpath  towards  the  house.” 

Erminia  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  and 
leaping  out,  followed  by  Fanny,  she  started 
to  find  Russell. 


9 


M 


194 


ASPHODEL, 


The  shadows  had  fallen  on  the  fragrant 
garden,  and  all  was  silent,  except  the  creak- 
ing cry  of  the  crickets  and  the  hoarse  blurt- 
ing of  the  frogs  from  a short  distance,  which 
only  made  the  stillness  more  profound.  But 
noise  and  stillness  were  one  to  her.  She 
heeded  neither.  They  advanced  swiftly  over 
the  gleaming  thread-like  path,  skirted  on  one 
hand  by  vast  primeval  trees,  which  had  been 
suffered  to  stand  with  their  dignity  unshorn, 
like  stately  warders  of  the  place.  Suddenly 
they  emerged  upon  the  rose-garden,  where  for 
the  first  time  the  splendor  of  the  gayly-illu- 
mined  house  burst  upon  them. 

Then  indeed  they  felt  the  utter  silence,  for  • 
their  very  hearts  stood  mute.  Erminia  stopped 
one  instant  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  head, 
as  if  to  regain  her  dazzled  sight,  and  then 
darted  forward  to  within  a few  feet  of  the 
long,  brilliant  ewindow,  where,  standing  in  the 
deep  shadow  of  a thorn-tree,  herself  unseen. 


A FESTIVAL. 


195 


the  whole  interior  and  every  spoken  word  were 
revealed. 

Under  a lamp  of  sparkling,  drooping  crys- 
tal she  saw  a woman  standing,  young  and 
fair,  with  the  tenderness-  of  angels  on  her 
face  (she  saw  tliat  first),  — then,  by  her 
side 

The  holy  priest  had  raised  his  loving  hands 
in  benediction,  when  a loud,  long  ^shriek,  the 
one  cry  of  a smitten  heart,  cut  with  its  sharp 
agony  into  the  peace  and  stillness  of  the 
room. 

The  guests  started  tumultuously,  for  the 
ceremony  was  now  ended,  and  Amy  turned 
to  Russell,  bewildered,  like  a half-awakened 
child.  But  he  stood  unmoved  apparently, 
feeling  as  if  grown  to  stone ; for  he  heard 
the  voice  of  Fanny  now,  above  the  idle  ques- 
tionings around  him,  crying,  “ Papa,  help 
me ! ” 4 

“Amy,”  he  said  presently  in  a low,  stern 


196 


ASPHODEL. 


voice,  which  startled  her,  while  the  guests 
began  to  crowd  around  them  with  gay  con- 
gratulations, endeavoring  to  drown  the  mem- 
ory of  that  dreadful  cry,  “ Amy,  do  not  follow 
me,  — I am  not  "well,”  — and  he  rushed  sud- 
denly from  her  side,  out  into  the  darkness 
and  the  shadows  of  the  grove. 

Again  he  heard  the  voice  of  his  child  ap- 
pealing to  him,  as  the  angels  of  the  sinful 
ones  may  cry,  leaning  out  of  heaven,  plead- 
ing with  them  in  their  hours  of  weakness ; 
with  such  plaintive  eagerness  the  tone  came 
to  him. 

He  ran  forward  till  he  reached  the  well- 
known  path,  where  it  opened  on  the  rose- 
garden,  to  the  very  spot  where  he  had  looked 
for  Amy’s  sign  of  welcome  through  so  many 
months,  — a sign  that  never  failed  and  a joy 
that  never  wearied. 

There'  on  the  damp  ground,  with  her  hands 
thrown  up  over  the  huge  root  of  an  oak-tree, 


A FESTIVAL. 


197 


where,  as  she  rushed  away  from  the  garden, 
she  had  fallen,  there  he  found  Erminia,  and, 
sitting  by  her  side,  his  weeping  child. 

Fanny  sprang  to  him  as  he  approached,  and 
threw  herself  upon  his  neck,  and  laid  her  cold 
wet  cheek  to  his.  “ 0 papa,  papa ! now  it  is 
all  over,”  she  sobbed.  ‘‘  We  have  travelled, 
we  have  waited,  and  I thought  we  should 
not  find  you ! But  now  all  is  past.  Do  you 
think  it  will  kill  her,  dear  papa,  to  be  so 
glad?  She  ran  almost  up  to  the  house  and 
saw  you  first,  because  I was  caught  by  a 
bramble ; presently  she  gave  a cry,  and  then 
came  running  back  to  me,  and  — dear  papa, 
do  kneel  down ! Let  us  help  her ! Perhaps 
she  is  hurt.”  And  the  child  laid  her  cheek, 
drowned  in  the  tears  of  grief  and  joy,  close  to 
the  chilly  face  of  the  fainting  woman,  as  if 
she  would  urge  her  back  to  consciousness. 

Russell  stood  a moment  gazing  down  irreso- 
lute. He  dared  not  touch  that  sacred  breath- 


198 


ASPHODEL. 


ing  form,  his  victim.  At  last  he  stooped,  and 
gently  drew  the  drooping  head  and  tightly- 
clenched  hands  away  from  the  damp  earth 
up  into  his  strong  arms. 

His  touch  aroused  her.  She  sprang  to  her 
feet,  staggering  away  from  his  embrace.  Fan- 
ny, we  do  not  love  this  man,”  she  said  wildly, 
‘‘  do  we,  child  ? But  I ’ll  tell  you  whom  we 
love,”  and  she  laughed  with  that  weird,  cruel 
laugh  of  a distracted  mind,  we  love  this 
person  who  is  coming.” 

Her  senses,  sharpened  to  unnatural  quick- 
ness, had  caught  the  sound  of  Amy’s  light, 
uncertain  footstep  on  the  walk,  before  the 
others  had  suspected  her  approach. 

“ Papa ! ” said  Fanny,  weeping,  and  hiding 
her  face  as  Amy’s  ghost-like  form  appeared, 
“ what  is  it  ? I am  frightened,  papa.” 

“ Russell,”  said  Amy,  moving  past  Erminia 
still  as  moonlight,  look  at  me  and  tell  me 
if  this  woman  holds  a claim  upon  you  ? ” 


A FESTIVAL, 


199 


Her  voice  was  very  deep  and  hoarse,  and 
at  its  sound  Russell’s  agony  visibly  increased. 
Her  lace  dress  swayed  in  the  fatal  wind  and 
her  waiting  feet  were  stayed  among  night-dews. 
Yet  she  stood  as  one  who  would  wait  forever 
till  his  answer  came. 

Little  girl,”  said  Erminia,  violently  seizing 
Amy’s  hand,  who  became  somewhat  alarmed, 
in  spite  of  the  calm  which  possessed  her,  by 
the  wild  eyes  she  turned  upon  her,  this  man 
is  nothing  to  me,  0 no!  Let  us  come  to  the 
house  together  and  join  the  dance ; and  then 
we  will  go,  Fanny  and  I.  You  shall  dance 
with  Fanny ; she ’s  about  your  age,  you  know, 
^nd  I ’ll  lake  this  gentleman.” 

“ Hush,  hush  1 ” said  Russell,  trying  to  still 
the  torment  of  her  words.  ‘‘  Amy,”  he  con- 
tinued, turning  to  his  wife  and  holding  Fanny 
still  clasped  to  his  breast,  ^^she  has  indeed  no 
claim  stronger  than  that  of  gratitude.  She 
has  loved  Fanny  much,  and  to-night  I must 


200 


ASPHODEL. 


go  with  them  and  protect  them.  They  cannot 
remain  here.  You  must  trust  me,  Amy,  and 
return  alone.  Can  you  do  this  for  me  ? ’’ 

She  did*  not  speak,  but  stepped  to  where 
he  stood,  half-reclining  against  a tree,  holding 
his  trembling  child.  Then  she  kissed  him, 
and,  without  look  or  sign  of  wavering,  passed, 
faithful,  back  towards  the  house. 

But  Erminia  sank  as  their  lips  touched, 
and  lay  like  death  upon  the  cold  ground. 


XIV. 


A WEDDING-NIGHT. 

^ I ^HE  slow  moon  had  ascended,  and  now 
silvered  the  mighty  tree-tops,  her  light 
falling  ill  broken  gleams  upon  the  road.  The 
landscape,  with  its  tawny  hills  and  brawling 
streams,  and  the  savage  wildness  of  the  val- 
leys through  which  the  travellers  passed,  grew 
more  wild  and  more  savage  as  the  white  rays 
made  the  dead  black  shadows  blacker  than 
in  the  darkest  night. 

The  chilling  winds  talking  in  the  branches 
were  the  only  sounds  except  the  moving  of 
the  swift  wheels.  The  cold  white  face  of 
Erminia  was  pillowed  upon  Fanny’s  shoulder, 
and  the  beautiful  hair,  straying  down,  lay 
tangled  and  damp  on  the  thin,  relaxing  fingers. 
Russell  sat  opposite,  bowed  and  stunned ; he 


9* 


202 


ASPHODEL. 


saw  himself,  the  worshipped  of  the  world, 
among  vain  praisers  of  his  beauty  both  of 
body  and  of  mind ; he  heard  the  changes 
rung  upon  his  learning  and  divine  genius, 
until,  cloyed  and  wearied,  he  longed  for  some- 
thing worthier;  then  he  saw  himself  again, 
yielding  to  the  satisfaction  of  this  praise,  and 
forgetful  of  one,  who,  walking  nobly  herself, 
asked  for  nobility  in  her  beloved.  He  had 
indeed  gone  down  into  the  valley  of  humilia- 
tion. No  one  perhaps  would  ever  know  the 
failure  of  his  life.  But  was  it  therefore  less 
a failure  that  it  was  known  to  none  save 
himself  and  his  God? 

The  agony  was  his  to  bear  alone.  The 
sighing  trees  moaned  as  they  passed,  and  in 
their  moaning  he  seemed  to  hear  the  old 
Scripture  fiat,  like  the  dirge  for  his  soul, 
Mene,  Mene,  Tekel,  Upharsin,”  — Thou  art 
weighed  in  the  balances^  and  art  found  wanting. 

As  they  entered  the  room  where  he  had 


A WBBBIJVG-NIGIIT. 


203 


passed  so  many  restless  nights  a horror  thrilled 
him.  This  experience  had  been  foreshadowed, 
and  he  had  despised  the  warning.  Yet  per- 
haps he  was  not  now  awake,  and  what  ap- 
peared so  real  was  possibly  but  an  ugly 
phantom  of  his  dream.  A lethargy  seemed 
to  take  possession  of  him ; presently,  however, 
arousing  himself,  he  found  Fanny’s  head  rest- 
ing upon  his  lap,  where  she  was  sleeping  as 
children  sleep.  He  bent  his  worn,  sad  face 
over  the  round  and  rosy  child,  and  stooped 
to  kiss  her,  but  she  stirred  and  said,  Papa, 
happy,”  and  slumbered  on,  while  he  shud- 
dered as  if  stung  to  new  torture  by  her  un- 
conscious prattle. 

Where  was  Erminia!  He  had  seen  her, 
as  in  a vision,  step  from  the  carriage  with 
something  of  her  old  pride  of  bearing,  and 
enter  the  house.  Yet  where  was  she  now? 
Were  there  still  deeper  gulfs  of  grief  for  him 
to  know?  And,  while  his  mind  pursued  the 


204 


ASPHODEL, 


various  roads  of  misery,  the  door  turned  gen- 
tly on  its  hinges  and  she  stood  again  beside 
him. 

The  new  dawn  was  painting  the  sky  with 
purple,  and  the  moon  rays  were  fading  in  the 
glory  when  he  looked  up  to  see  Erminia  there. 
Neither  the  new  dawn  nor  the  fading  beams 
were  typical  of  her  then.  The  blaze  of  noon 
was  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  shone  with 
a deep,  unwonted  fire. 

“1  have  come  for  my  little  girl,’’  she  said, 
almost  gayly.  We  are  travellers,  and  we 
sail  away  for  home  this  morning.  Perhaps  we 
shall  sail  forever,  she  and  I ; we  are  looking 
for  one  — no,  no,”  she  continued,  making  a 
sign  of  impatience  to  herself,  ^^we  are  going 
home,  looking  for  home.  I had  almost  told 
you  a foolish  secret.  Perhaps  you  thought 
we  were  looking  for  you ! ” And  again  she 
laughed  a painful  laugh  which  echoed  through 
the  room. 


A WEDDING-NIGHT. 


205 


It  aroused  Fanny.  Tlie  child  put  up  her 
arms  as  if  to  embrace  Erminia,  and  the  little 
gesture  seemed  to  work  a sudden  change  upon 
the  spirit  of  the  suffering  woman.  She  knelt 
beside  her  charge,  stroked  her  hair,  and 
looked  into  her  eyes  with  a mother’s  tender- 
ness, quite  forgetful  apparently  of  the  presence 
of  another.  Presently  she  said,  “ Fanny,  shall 
we  be  always  together,  shall  we  go  away  again 
together  to-day  ? ” 

“ 0 yes,  with  papa ; and  let  us  go  far  out 
together,  far  away  where  we  saw  the  sun 
rise ; shall  we,  darling  ? ” 

At  these  words  the  wild  light  burned  again 
in  Erminia’s  eyes.  She  raised  them  quickly 
and  met  those  of  Russell,  looking  pityingly 
upon  her.  Then,  starting  up  with  a sharp 
cry,  she  fled  out  of  the  room  and  far  away 
from  the  house,  before  he  thought  to  follow 
her. 

An  hour  later  they  had  traced  her  to  the 


ASPHODEL. 


?B6 

quay,  where  the  sounds  of  preparation  showed 
the  hour  for  the  ship’s  departure  to  be  near. 
They  saw  her  slight  figure  rapidly  pacing  the 
deck,  regardless  of  the  busy  scene  around, 
regardless  even  of  herself,  and  with  the  bear- 
ing of  one  mindful  only  of  the  presence  of 
a great  sorrow. 

“ Papa,  I must  go  to  her,”  said  Fanny,  as 
he  endeavored  to  restrain  his  child.  “ Will 
you  not  come  too?  I love  you,  papa,  but  I 
must  go  with  her  for  she  has  long  taken  care 
of  me,  and  you  say  she  is  ill  now,  so  I must 
leave  you  and  take  care  of  her^  if  you  will 
not  come  home  with  us.” 

And,  hurrying  away  from  his  side,  she  left 
him  no  alternative  but  to  follow,  and  see  those 
slender  hands  once  more  clasped  around  his 
little  one.  But  he  dared  not  meet  the  9jes 
already  grown  so  strange  to  him. 

^^Will  you  not  go,  papa?”  were  the  last 
words  ringing  in  his  ears  as  he  turned  desper- 


A WFDnmG-JVIGIIT, 


207 


ately  from  them.  For  the  thought  of  Amy 
and  his  wedding-night  came  now  like  an 
avenging  spirit  to  tear  him  from  the  place. 

He  saw  the  curious  harp  of  a loving  soul 
lying  shattered  before  him;  and  a child  play- 
ing with  the  fragments ! For  him,  the  de- 
stroyer, a wild  discord  rang  forever  from  the 
strings,  which  no  music  through  all  time 
could  wholly  silence. 

The  broad  sun  had  travelled  half-way  toward 
noon,  when  Russell  reached  The  Rosery.’’ 
Leaping  from  the  carriage  he  ascended  noise- 
lessly to  Amy’s  room.  At  the  threshold  he 
paused,  as  if  the  next  breath  held  his  future, 
then  knocked  and  quickly  entered. 

It  was  a spacious  apartment,  beautiful  with 
white  and  gold,  and  resplendent  still  with  a 
blaze  of  lamps.  The  closed  shutters  and 
folded  crimson  curtains  forbade  the  light  to 
enter,  and  no  one  had  been  suffered  to  in- 
vade the  silent  room. 


208 


ASPHODEL, 


Amy  lay  on  a little  lounge,  with  a table  of 
gorgeous  flowers  by  her  side  which  she  had 
arranged  while  waiting  for  her  lover;  but  at 
length,  drawing  the  white  cloak  he  knew  so 
well  over  her  bridal  array,  she  had  dropped 
asleep  where  he  found  her  now,  with  a flush 
upon  her  cheek  like  any  tired  child. 

His  rapid  step  awakened  her.  Russell,” 
she  said,  starting  up  and  flinging  her  arms 
about  him  with  a rapture  of  utter  confidence 
and  joy,  ^^you  see  I have  waited  for  you,”  — 
and  she  smiled  gayly  as  she  tried  to  shake  the 
sharp  creases  out  of  her  beautiful  dress.  But 
when  she  spoke  her  voice  came  with  difficulty, 
and  a hoarse  cough  stopped  her  speech. 

^^0  Amy!”  he  said,  his  tone  sharp  with 
anguish,  “ have  I killed  you  too  ? ” 

She  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  and  laid 
her  hand  upon  her  side,  as  if  attacked  by  a 
sudden  pain. 

Her  piteous  look  was  enough.  He  took 


A WEDDING-NIGHT. 


209 


her  lightly  in  his  arms  and  placed  her  again 
upon  the  couch,  where,  kneeling  by  her  side, 
he,  who  had  been  the  pride  and  worship  of 
the  world,  unveiled  the  weakness  of  his  un- 
worthy heart  before  youth’s  trusting  love.  At 
length  he  ended  his  confession,  saying,  with  a 
smothered  intensity  she  only  half  understood, 
“1  love  you,  Amy,  as  I have  never  loved 
before,  because  I know  now  how  unworthy  I 
am,  how  vain  and  weak ! how  little  I de- 
serve anything,  yet  how  much  you  give  me 
when  you  give  me  all.  your  faith,  all  — ” 
Seeing  no  longer  through  a glass  darkly,” 
but  face  to  face,  and  standing  as  they  stand 
forever  who  have  gained  the  immortal,  Russell 
was  abased  by  the  remembrance  of  wrong, 
yet  felt  himself  safe,  saved  perhaps  by  Amy’s 
womanly  devotion.  That  was  highest  to  him 
now.  He  considered  no  longer  communion 
of  thought,  labor,  and  aspiration  in  life  as 
the  only  paths  of  attainment,  but  was  lifted 


N 


210 


ASPHODEL. 


by  the  simple  devotion  of  a woman  into  the 
divine  rest  and  insight  of  love.  He  knew 
himself  forgiven,  — forgiven  by  both.  How 
could  he  win  forgiveness  from  himself? 

He  looked  at  Amy.  She  seemed  radiant 
with  rapture  and  with  peace.  Once,  a trem- 
ulous flitting  shadow  passed  over  her  when 
a doubt  whispered.  He  is  far  above  me ; what 
can  I give  him  every  day?  But  ^ain  the 
glory  irradiated  her  paleness,  and  she  said 
aloud,  “1  would  live  for  you,  I may  die  for 
you,  Russell.’^ 


XV. 


SUNSET. 

7ALKETH  in  hand  with  the  morning 
^ ^ Abroad  on  smiling  hills, 

Breaketh  with  fulness  of  noontide 
From  the  cold  running  rills, 

Speaketh  from  clover  and  pine 
When  the  odorous  winds  incline. 


From  green  and  golden  meadows, 

From  knee-deep  asphodel. 

From  the  awful  gray-haired  mountain 
And  the  thrushes  dark-green  dell, 
Breaketh  one  chorus  supreme. 

Chant  of  no  wandering  dream. 

Breaketh  when  mists  hide  the  mountain, 
Breaketh  when  white  lilies  fade, 

Breaketh  when  winds  tear  the  rainbow. 
And  death  hides  both  lover  and  maid. 
When  the  maples  and  clover  die 
And  the  autumn  breezes  sigh. 


212 


ASPHODEL. 


Breaketh  in  silence  and  shadow, 

Breaketh  in  glory  and  gloom, 

Breaketh  in  night  as  in  morning 
Over  the  birth  and  the  tomb, 

When  we  gather  flowers  to  strew, 

And  the  summers  come  and  go. 

Dost  hear  it  when  bells  toll  the  loudest? 
Dost  hear  it  when  rain-drops  fall? 

When  day  is  but  night  at  its  fullest. 
And  the  soul  sleeps  under  a pall? 

Then  listen  while  grief  shall  unfold 
The  Love  universal,  untold. 


This  chant  was  one  Erminia  had  framed 
and  loved,  and  its  half-concealed  meaning 
held  an  attraction  for  Eussell.  The  words 
lingered  in  his  memory,  and  he  found  himself 
repeating  them  in  mournful  cadences,  during 
the  days  of  sorrow  which  came  to  him,  and 
gathering  truth  and  peace  from  their  sugges- 
tions. He  could  not  tell  whether  consolation 
lay  in  their  melody  for  those  who  had  never 
known  Erminia,  but  for  him,  now  that  his 


SUNSET, 


213 


heart  was  sad  and  his  footsteps  weary  and 
unaccompanied,  her  living  faith  shone  from 
the  words  upon  his  spirit,  and  the  Omnipres- 
ence of  Divine  love  became  a reality  even  to 
him,  even  to  such  grief  as  his ! 


Amy  had  passed  the  bounds  of  our  mor- 
tality. The  fatal  dews  of  that  wedding-night 
brought  the  chill  of  death  to  her.  The  days 
of  growth,  the  weeks  of  rapture,  the  months 
of  perfect  unity,  were  past.  They  could  lose 
nothing  of  their  permanent  beauty,  but  they 
were  beautiful  only  as  the  stars,  forever  shin- 
ing, forever  afar ; her  airy  grace  and  elusive 
charm,  becoming  more  airy,  more  elusive,  had 
fled  at  length  into  memory’s  dim  chambers 
and  become  a thing  that  was!  Later,  a ray 
of  the  great  Dawn  streamed  to  him  from  the 
morning  of  his  beloved,  and  the  crown  of 
sorrow  rested  on  his  painful  head. 

Russell  returned  to  Fanny  and  his  friends, 


214 


ASPHODEL. 


and  arrived  at  the  period  he  had  long  before 
indicated  to  Herbert.  The  time  which  then 
appeared  so  short,  — the  young  months  of 
married  happiness,  when  the  world  appears 
new  born,  and  all  things  moulded  to  fresh 
beauty  for  the  twofold  being  to  enjoy  and 
comprehend,  — these  few  months  had  length- 
ened, in  his  fiery  experience,  till  Russell  felt 
like  one  who  had  almost  crossed  the  gulf  of 
Time,  and,  though  still  struggling  in  the 
vast  sorrowful  tide,  believed  the  shore  beyond 
to  be  his  only  resting-place. 

Long  before,  Alice  had  written  to  him  on 
Fanny’s  page,  and  told  him  their  brief  history 
at  ^^The  Cliff”;  how  the  child  returned  lead- 
ing ^^her  darling”  by  the  hand,  changed, 
fearfully  changed  to  all  except  her  charge. 
How,  when  Erminia  looked  on  Fanny,  the 
ungoverned  fervor  of  her  gaze  grew  soft  and 
melted  into  tearful  tenderness,  and  the  re- 
straint she  put  upon  herself  proved  often 
too  great  for  her  failing  strength. 


SUNSET. 


215 


‘ She  is  better  to  be  much  apart  from  the 
child/  our  wise  physician  said,  — and  so,” 
wrote  Alice,  it  was  my  sad  privilege  to  watch 
her  while  the  fluctuating  waves  of  life  rose  and 
fell.  One  day  the  fire  of  her  unhinged  reason 
seemed  to  ascend  and  touch  the  gates  of 
heaven ; for  they  turned  suddenly  and  the 
flame  of  her  being  vanished,  leaving,  to  us 
who  knew  her,  only  the  dim  socket  and  the 
memory  of  her  brightness.” 

That  was  all.  Never  a word  of  reproach, 
never  a sound  of  the  truth  which  Alice  must 
know,  yet  which  it  would  crush  him  to  endure 
from  her  lips.  Only  love  and  silence ! 

Therefore  Russell  hastened  towards  The 
Cliff”  once  more,  and  longed  for  it  as  the 
weary  sailor  longs  for  home.  Was  he  not 
a wearied  voyager  traversing  the  vast  ocean 
of  life’s  mystery  ? 

Amy’s  father  and  mother  returned  with  him 
as  far  as  the  city  of  their  youth,  and  there 


216 


ASPHODEL. 


reluctantly  relinquished  his  companionship. 
He  was  to  them  Amy’s  idol,  the  lamp  of  her 
happiness,  her  protector,  hers ! Therefore 
they  clung  to  him.  He  was  without  fleck 
or  flaw  in  their  eyes.  They  little  knew  what 
pain  their  worship  gave  him,  or  how  his  spirit 
was  humbled  and  cast  down  by  their  efforts 
for  his  welfare.  They  fancied  they  could 
fathom  his  grief  or  measure  it  by  their  own ; 
but  we  move  veiled,  like  the  prophet  of  old, 
and  trammelled  by  the  unspoken,  the  inex- 
pressible,— and  the  daring  one  who  attempts 
to  scale  the  savage  height  of  another’s  sorrow 
only  becomes  bruised  in  impotent  endeavor, 
and  falls,  weeping  and  faint,  with  his  arm 
around  his  brother,  at  the  foot  of  the  sacred 
Cross. 

They  parted  then,  each  bearing  a separate 
burden;  the  parents  never  "to  understand  the 
grief  of  Russell  until  the  veil  be  lifted.  But 
he  bore  his  sorrow  as  one  might  bear  a most 


SUNSET, 


217 


precious  possession,  for  therein  lay  the  jewel 
which  had  lighted  up  the  decaying  kingdoms 
of  his  life,  realms  of  riches,  all  his,  to  be 
redeemed. 


XVI. 


EVENING. 

HE  afternoon  was  spent,  and  the  siin  far 


descended,  when  Alice  folded  her  work 
and  ran  down  into  the  library,  determined  to 
go  to  the  piano  and  endeavor  to  recall  an  old 
chorale  Erminia  loved.  But  as  she  entered- 
the  room,  she  found  Russell  and  Herbert 
still  sitting  where  they  sat  two  hours  before. 
They  were  not  talking ; they  were  rather  rest- 
ing like  tired  soldiers  who  had  suffered  kin- 
dred experiences,  and  to  whom  the  repose  of 
evening  and  the  feeling  of  companionship 
were  sufficient  for  their  needs.  Fortunately 
she  felt  their  presence  before  her  fingers 
touched  the  instrument,  for  slie  knew  those 
saddening  strains  were  not  best  for  either,  at 
that  time.  They  needed  her  with  the  healthy 


EVENING. 


219 


sunshine  she  always  brought.  “ Come,”  she 
said,  seizing  a warm  garment  from  the  hall  as 
she  spoke,  to  show  herself  in  earnest,  ‘‘  come 
out  to  the  knoll  with  me  to-night,  dear  friends, 
where  I hear  the  children’s  voices.” 

Her  appeal  was  not  one  to  be  resisted. 
They  wandered  out  and  climbed  the  grassy 
height,  while  the  deep  orange  of  the  October 
sky  defined  the  piny  sentinels  on  the  western 
horizon,  and  the  boundless  sea  glimmered 
faintly  in  the  east.  The  almost  waveless  tides 
washed  the  silent  sands  beneath  their  feet 
gently,  as  if  endeavoring  to  wash  away  the 
sorrow  of  the  world  and  bring  it  peace. 

Presently  through  the  unbroken  stillness 
the  children’s  voices  came  to  them.  They 
had  descended  and  wandered  to  a farther 
point.  But  now  the  increasing  distinctness 
of  the  tones  indicated  their  speedy  return 
towards  the  house  over  the  rocks  below. 

I sent  Ally  home,”  they  heard  Ernest  say. 


220 


ASPHODEL. 


‘‘  partly  because  she  was  cold,  of  course j but 
partly  because  I had  something  to  say  to  ^ you, 
which  I thought  she  would  n’t  understand. 
I want  you  to  marry  me,  Fanny,  when  we  get 
a little  older  ; won’t  you,  for  I love  you  better 
than  anybody  else  I believe  in  the  wide  world, 
and  you  have  no  mother  and  I will  be  your 
protector ! Will  you  promise,  Fanny  ! ” 

They  had  been  walking  apparently  just  be- 
low where  the  friends  stood,  for,  as  they  passed 
on,  Fanny’s  answer  was  not  heard ; but  Rus- 
sell turned  in  silence  towards  his  companions, 
and,  holding  both  their  hands,  showed  in  the 
tears  which  filled  his  eyes  the  speechless  grati- 
tude of  his  heart. 

The  tides  of  time  flow  swiftly,  even  through 
what  appear  the  eternities  of  sorrow.  “ The 
Cliff”  was  the  chosen  abode  of  Russell.  The 
subtle  quality  pervading  the  household,  and 
rendering  it  a home  indeed,  reminded  him 


EVENING, 


221 


sadly  it  was  not  his  own.  But  he  lived  for 
others  now,  and  Fanny  was  happy,  and  shel- 
tered under  that  kind  roof.  A sting  lay  in 
his  grief  too  deep  for  any  consolation  of  the 
world.  The  knowledge  of  his  unwithered 
affections,  and  of  a Mercy  stronger  than  our 
weakness,  alone  sustained  him. 

He  said  to  Herbert  one  evening,  as  he  found 
himself  choosing,  in  his  friend’s  company,  the 
same  path  he  had  often  followed  with  Erminia, 
that  his  sorrow  led  him,  as  the  Israelites  were 
led  with  fire  by  night  and  cloud  by  day,  out 
of  the  snares  and  flatteries  of  the  world.  “ I 
believe,”  he  continued,  half  veiling  his  mean- 
ing in  the  ancient  symbol,  that  I live  now  to 
water  the  asphodel  and  to  rear  it  into  beauty. 
The  spirits  who  love  us  are  said,  you  remem- 
ber, to  be  nourished  by  this-  lily.  It  means  re- 
membrance, and  remembrance  signifies  growth, 
to  one  who  has  loved  truly.” 

Herbert’s  answer  was  scarcely  audible.  He 


X 


222 


ASPHODEL. 


feared  to  disturb  the  current  of  his  friend’s 
thought.  He  knew  there  was  no  happiness 
for  a mind  like  Russell’s  in  diversion.  Med- 
itation and  brave  companionship  with  grief 
were  alone  for  him. 

Alice  and  Herbert  made  it  the  loving  duty 
of  their  lives  to  win  back  something,  if  pos- 
sible, of  the  natural  joy  of  common  days  into 
the  calm  of  Russell’s  existence.  They  observed 
the  method  of  his  daily  life  was  changed.  He 
found  it  impossible  to  write  as  usual,  and  the 
absence  of  expression  was  a pain  to  him.  Not 
otherwise  could  he  learn,  perhaps,  how  deep 
the  shafts  of  sorrow  may  be  sunk  in  the  human 
heart ; how  the  inexpressible  remains,  forever, 
as  far  beyond  all  possible  expression  as  the 
stars  beyond  the  limits  of  the  hills.  He  grew 
more  patient  and  human,  and  at  length  almost 
serene.  For  out  of  his  new  life  was  born  a 
new  speech,  deeper  and  more  contained  than 
the  old,  rendered  near  and  sacred  to  all  hearts 


EVENING. 


223 


by  its  humility ; — a speech  flowing  from  his 
presence  as  well  as  from  his  books,  for  his 
intercourse  with  men  became  more  simple. 
He  could  afford  to  be  accessible.  ‘‘  I have 
loved  selfishly,”  he  seemed  to  say ; “ now,  if 
any  remain  who  care  for  me,  let  me  love  gen- 
erously, and  be  thankful  for  the  precious  gift 
they  bring  ! Is  not  the  good-will  of  my  friend 
worth  more  than  the  little  learning  or  wit  or 
wisdom  can  be  which  he  may  fancy  me  to 
possess  ? ” He  could  not  love  his  art  less ; 
but  the  pure  streams  which  fill  the  rivers 
of  song  were  followed  more  closely  by  his 
devoted  feet.  He  was  no  longer  cheated  by 
the  voice  of  fame,  nor  by  the  enchanting 
murmurs  of  the  crowd ; but  wherever  there 
was  sacrifice,  or  tenderness,  or  truth,  or  any 
nobility  which  touched  the  hem  of  Love,  he 
was  ready,  sitting  at  the  feet,  and  learning 
there  with  children  and  with  saints. 

Thus  the  measure  of  days  was  fulfilled,  while 


224 


ASPHODEL. 


by  the  good  fight  of  every  hour  was  nour- 
ished the  sacred  flower  which  is  planted  by 
the  rivers  of  the  world.  One  who  had  pressed 
life’s  fading  blossoms  to  his  breast,  and  felt 
their  cool  frail  petals,  had  learned  from  them 
that  even  he  and  such  as  he  may  hear  from 
afar  the  coursing  winds  as  they  fan  the  As- 
phodel, and,  listening,  know  that  the  true  lily 
of  love  waves  forever  to  the  faithful  in  those 
far,  unfading  gardens. 


THE  ENE 


Cambridge  : Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  & Co. 


f 


A 


/-T.‘ 

U.‘  ■ 


